Mind Over Matter
by Lord Goregore
Summary: He is Rex, a legend in his own mind and perhaps in the making. And he will have to be everything he believes, for a new mind is coming to the fray. And in this final stage of the battle...who will grasp the true horrors of desired victory?
1. The Beast Below

_**Mind Over Matter**_

Writer's Note: Not only do I not own anything, but considering how new this series is, chances are I'm going to get some details wrong, or have my plot points overwritten by the canon show. I'll see what I can do to retroactively fix them if I have to, but if you spot an error, well, that's probably why.

Also, the bit at the beginning for any of the people reading my other story who go 'Well I like what LGG has done so far, but I know absolutely nothing about this series so I won't read it because I have no idea what's going on'. Now you have no excuse to not give it a try! Ha…I'm so clever.

Also, I wanted to be the first fanfic for this show, but then AnimeGirl 144 went and beat me to the punch. And Just B3li3v3. And KrspaceT. And other people. Because I was lazy. Bleh. You still all suck and I hate you.

What, you wanted a story? I thought you'd want to see me ramble some more… *dodges thrown objects* OKAY OKAY HERE WE GO!

* * *

_There are days when the world changes._

_The day that man learned to control fire. The day that man properly crafted gunpowder. The day that man split the atom._

_Five years ago, another such day began. When it was over, nothing would ever be the same again. An accident unleashed a whole new breed of machinery, the microscopic entities known as nanites. Within a time period so short it was barely believable, the nanites infested every living organism on the planet._

_For most cases, that was all they did._

_For some, far worse occurred. The nanites would sometimes force radical, catastrophic changes in living creature__'__s cell structures, changing them and imbuing them with strange powers. Why it did this, how it began, and such other factors remained unknown: all that remained were the unfortunate victim, transformed into what became known as an E.V.O, an Exponentially Variegated Organism. Against such creatures, conventional forces stood little chance._

_The unconventional force that formed to battle them was known as Providence. Its men were some of the finest trained on the planet. But even they were not enough. Providence needed, and was granted, a secret weapon._

_He had no memory of his past, no idea where he came from. But he had something to compensate: he was one of the few on the planet who could control the nanites within him. With their power, he could craft his body into fearsome weapons and potent mechanical constructs for virtually any scenario, command machines like they were an extension of himself, and perhaps more important of all, neutralize the wild nanites that created the EVO creatures._

_Perhaps he is the best hope this new world has. Perhaps he will be the one to make it brave._

_HE IS GENERATOR REX._

_(__"__Just Rex, moron! This is why I should do the intro!__"__)_

_Ugh__…__fine. You wish for a thrill, Rex? Very well._

_Time to you to learn the dark side of the word FEW.

* * *

_

Part 1: The Beast Below

"_Hey kids, rock __'__n roll  
That__'__s how I lost control__  
Hey kids, go get high  
I can__'__t remember why.__"_

_Y__'__know, sometimes getting a new room and a new friend just serves to remind you what hasn__'__t changed._

_My other best friend__'__s still a super-intelligent chimpanzee, but that I wouldn__'__t change for the world. No, it__'__s the rest. Dr. Holiday still looks at me like I__'__m interesting science homework and not more entertaining after school activities, for one. And Agent Six? I don__'__t think a black hole could remove the stick he had stuck up his rear, probably at birth. And ever since we ran into that Van Kleiss jackhole, he__'__s been doing his best to ram one up me too. Ew, no, not that way!_

_Look, I know what I__'__m doing. I don__'__t need to be treated like I__'__m auditioning for Full Metal Jacket. If you__'__re gonna train me, at least do something interesting, like teach me some new moves. Instead, all I get are the same Danger Room-lite routines, over and over, so they can crunch data in their computers and keep telling me I need to go back in for more. Lammmeeee._

_I__'__ll find another way out. Eventually, they__'__ll drop their guard._

_If they don__'__t bore me to death first.

* * *

_

For Rex, it was more of the same.

Same old room, all metal with who knows what gadgets hidden inside it. Same old lighting, which was too much. Same old instructions over an intercom. To Rex, all around, it was the same old excrement, though he used a more crude word than that in his head.

"Were you listening to a word I said Rex?" Agent Six's voice intoned over the intercom.

"Yeah yeah stand here stop that go there break that fly here wreck that yadda yadda, a-yadda, and some more yadda." Rex said, fiddling with his goggles for the fourth time in the past thirty seconds.

"I suggest you take it seriously Rex. We've been dialing up the threat assessment equipment steadily over the last few days. You are not playing in a jungle gym."

"I think I'd prefer that. Just for the difference." Rex said, snapping his goggles over his face. "Come on Six. Thrill me. If you're even remotely capable of something like that."

"Initiating first round Rex. Attempt to remain stationary." Six's voice said. Even as he spoke, the wall in front of Rex opened up, a giant mechanical fusion of a piston and a pile-driver emerging. Rex snorted and slammed his fists together, lines of white shooting up the limbs.

The machine swiftly lined Rex up and unleashed a mighty blow, firing off a house-sized pugil stick-like club of metal. The device had enough force behind that, had it impacted something like an eighteen-wheeler truck going at around 70 miles per hour, it would have been unmarked, while the truck would have been turned into something more resembling what a cartoon billy goat would chew on.

But even as it did that, Rex's arms expanded rapidly and fused together, forming into a similarly sized shield that Rex held out in front of him, setting his legs. The impact sent a vibration through him, but that was about it. The second blow from the device was also similarly semi-ignored, as was the third. The only reason Rex didn't hold up a hand to yawn was because he was using both arms to form his barrier.

"You _SURE_ they've been dialing up stuff, Six? You sure they're not just lying to you so it looks like they're doing something?" Rex said. Six did not reply, though the fact that a second thrusting mechanism wheeled itself out of the wall and began pounding on Rex's shield in turn served well enough. Rex held his ground against the machines, despite their efforts to vary the attack by pounding in turn, then together, and then in a more erratic pattern. Rex stood through it all, barely budging, even when both devices slammed forward simultaneously and kept pressing forward instead of retracting, putting intense pressure on his shield. When that didn't work, a _third_ device joined the fray, which inconvenienced Rex for about two seconds before he turned his legs into a cross between magnet boots and golf cleats from hell, his feet digging into the ground and keeping him firmly in place.

"Can we PLEASE move on to something interesting? Like watching paint dry? Maybe grass grow? Hey I heard about this new thing called water boiling, maybe we could…"

Rex never saw the tiny device zip over and land on his neck. But he darn sure felt it, as the small offensive drone promptly zapped him on his exposed skin with a tiny electrified needle, giving Rex the pleasant experience of knowing what it was like to be stung by an insect on the higher scale of the Schmidt Index.

"YEEEEOOOOOWWWW!" Rex yelled, instinctively reaching for his neck to slap at whatever was hurting him. This proved to be a poor, if understandable action, as Rex did so by withdrawing one of his arms from his construct in front of him.

Just as all three hammer-devices surged forward at the same time, slamming into Rex's weakened shield and sending him heads over heels backwards before he impacted the wall behind him. Fortunately for him, the steel wall behind him had been swapped out for a highly elastic gel when he wasn't looking. Unfortunately, the hammer-devices continued their push all the wall across the room, slamming Rex into the padded barrier with an unpleasantly wet crunching noise.

To add insult and slightly further injury to injury, Rex was promptly shoved out of the gel wall as soon as the hammers were withdrawn and flopped onto his face in about as uncool a way as possible. His only response was a low, deep growl in his throat.

Dr. Holiday, watching the monitors inside, was too slow to warn Agent Six was Rex was about to do, as he both sprang up and held out his hand. His nanites, having already withdrawn his shield and foot-bracing constructs, responded immediately and manifested one of Rex's favorite toys in turn: his car-sized blade that Rex had originally called the BFS, and, after being told repeatedly that such a name was far too crude, had taken to alternatively calling it the Imperious (a name that had actually gotten a raised eyebrow out of Bobo, who expected Rex to name his weapons more along the lines of 'Punch of Kill Everything', until he found out that Rex had gotten the name from a comic book, at which point everything again made sense to Bobo). Rex promptly used it to reveal a weakness in the hammer-devices: they were great against a stationary target, but not so much against a mobile, angry one.

Several seconds later the wall opened again, this time disgorging Agent Six, looking displeased as Rex dispelled the BFS/Imperious and looked around at the wreckage of the machines he'd turned into scrap.

"Those don't come cheap, you know." Six commented in his usual even tone.

"Maybe next time you won't be." Rex said, pointing at the suited man. "What's the big deal, Six? Have I gotten so good that you have to cheat now?"

"It's not deception, kid. It's reality. Yours." Agent Six said. A piece of broken machinery finally dislodged itself from its parent and plummeted towards Six's head: in one blurring motion Six had knocked it away with his specialized katana. "You've had it easy so far, but if you think every single EVO is going to be as repetitive and simplistic as this device, and as easy to combat, you have another thing coming."

"Then teach me something more then these same boring old routines! Don't suddenly pull the rug out from under me, Six! It's just not cool!"

"This isn't something to admire, Rex. It's a war. And we don't plan to lose." Six said. "We can't teach you to think on your feet and become aware of your surroundings, not entirely. You have to learn that on your own. If you don't, well…you saw what happened the first time you went up against someone who could actually use his head. Next time, he might be using yours as a kickball."

"So what's this supposed to teach me? That I can't trust anyone but myself?" Rex growled.

"We don't need your trust, Rex. We just need you to be as efficient as possible." Six said, looking at the wreckage with some distaste. "Albeit directed in a certain fashion. Return to your room, we won't be able to resume any combat training until we've repaired the damage from your little temper tantrum."

"Fine. Have fun playing janitor, Six. It seems to be your life's mission, and all. Me being a BIG MESS." Rex said, and stalked out of the training room. Six watched him leave, his face forever impassive.

"…I don't think that went well." Dr. Holiday said over the intercom.

"Not really, no." Six replied, replacing his sword in its concealed sheath.

* * *

"Why is he such an ass?" Rex complained some time later. While Providence was keeping an eye on him (as best they could, and to Rex that wasn't much), they hadn't complained about him wandering around the base and eventually heading into Dr. Holiday's lab. Probably thought it was a good thing he was staying inside, no matter where. Fortunately, Six was elsewhere, not that that helped Rex's attempts (in his mind) to charm the good doctor. She'd blown him off as usual, and Rex had sulkily slumped into a chair. Bobo had wandered in thereafter, holding a sandwich half the size he was and clearly seeking some entertainment to go with it.

"Rex, as much as I enjoy our conversations, I am somewhat busy." Dr. Holiday said, jotting down notes. "Not only do I have a lot of work, but I'm waiting on a phone call."

"Oh, did you go out and get yourself a man, doc? You shouldn't have had to look that far!" Rex said. Dr. Holiday ignored the teenager, continuing to jot down her notes. "Fine. What phone call?"

"An old colleague. He's been consulting me about his project."

"Is dat the one who spent two hours complaining that Dr. Aim poached some of his people for dat robot project Dr. Aim was working on?" Bobo asked, remembering how annoying the bits and pieces of the ranting he'd listened in on was.

"Yes, that was Dr. Tull. He had a good reason to be aggravated. His project can probably serve the human race better then the latest generation of mindless automatons." Dr. Holiday said.

"What _is_ this project?" Rex asked, attempting the old trick of getting the girl interested by trying to _feign _interest.

"It's a cyberneurotic projection interface." Dr. Holiday said. "Very interesting mechanics. If he can get it to work, it will have all sorts of useful applications. Brain surgery, psychological treatment, addiction counseling…" Dr. Holiday said, looking up, and seeing, as expected, Rex's eyes having glazed over. "But I believe you were complaining."

"Oh yeah! Six! Big jerk!" Rex rambled.

"I take it you mean Agent Six's choice of tactics specifically." Dr. Holiday said, looking into a microscope. "I don't approve of them either, Rex, but his heart…"

"HA!"

"Fine, his _intent _is in the right place. He wants to keep you safe."

"Oh please! I can keep myself safe! Who's the one they come running to when nothing else works, eh? And how often does anything else work?" Rex said, primping.

"More often than you would realize, Rex." Dr. Holiday said.

"Thanks." Rex said grouchily, going into a slouch that seemed only possible when you were a put-upon teenager.

"The point is, Rex, is that you still have a lot of potential for growth. We want you to realize it before you end up in a crisis situation." Dr. Holiday said. "Kleiss and his associates have demonstrated that, like you, there are EVO's who can maintain their minds and wills when they turn. That may not be a good thing. Especially combined with that fact is that we have no idea exactly _what _causes EVO's to manifest, not yet. We don't even have anything resembling a set trigger factor. It could be environmental, psychological, sociological, or possibly completely extemporary."

"Huh?" Rex said.

"Lots 'o options for EVO's to pop kid. Not many of dem good." Bobo said, smacking his lips from the last bite of his sandwich.

"That's true. There's also the fact that there doesn't seem to be any deciding factor to what kind of metagenesis an EVO can go through. A person could gain the power to heal, or to go intangible, or literally halt the flow of time, with no consideration for what kind of person they are or what they could do with such power. We don't know the future, Rex. So we have to get you to know yourself. So you can see that future in the best possible health."

"Oh don't worry about me doc. I can take anything this world, or the future, throws at me." Rex said, standing up and fluffing his jacket

"I would like to think so." Dr. Holiday said, returning to her microscope. "But on a long enough timeline, the survival rate of everything drops to zero."

Rex opened his mouth to reply, only to find there was no witty rejoinder coming to mind. He closed his mouth and left the lap, not noticing Bobo's similar look of surprise.

"Now what's a nice smart lady like you doing reading Palahniuk?" Bobo asked.

"I find his immature nihilism amusing in its simplicity."

* * *

_Somewhere in the United States._

James Madison High was named after the fourth president of the United States. It was unlikely that most, if not nearly all of the students that went there, knew or cared about that fact.

The figure walking through the hallways should have, in theory, called attention to himself. But as with most high school students, the teenagers of James Madison High were lost inside their own little worlds and the joys and problems within, and did not notice a rather disconcerting fact. The figure was wearing a long blue windbreaker, a TOO long blue windbreaker: the jacket was at least two sizes too big. This allowed the hood to mostly cover the wearer's face, as he walked slowly through the teeming school halls. Perhaps if his pants had been more unusual, someone might have noticed, but the figure was wearing simple blue jeans and athletic shoes, the same clothing that adorned dozens of students within the school. Lunchtime had begun about ten minutes ago, and the figure, if watched, would have clearly been observed to be heading to the cafeteria.

While the school hallways were not quiet, the noise level spiked dramatically upward inside the school's canteen, as the many students within caused a concentrated mass of sound that forced many of them to be even louder to try and hear themselves over their peers, fellows, and unfortunate vicinity types. Upon the tables were the usual clusters of friends, interest groups, outcasts, and cliques, a sight that mirrored the inside of any place of learning in America.

The noise kept most anyone from noticing the doors slamming shut behind the figure as he walked in. Overworked and underpaid, none of the lunch servers noticed the doors to their kitchen also slamming closed.

Navigating the cafeteria was much like traversing some closely grown brier patches, with the constant movement and tunnel vision of most of the students there. The figure walked through it like it was nothing, never wavering from his goal as he approached the table near one of the walls.

The students who sat there looked like they had just walked out of a casting agency for a high school football team, with the notable exception that most of them actually looked like teenagers. Sometimes, though, real life did mirror fiction, especially in the nature of the Madison Razors, as they sat, ate, laughed, and generally acted in the manner of jocks. None of them noticed the approaching figure until he was standing in front of the table.

"Who the hell are you?" One of them asked. The figure ignored the speaker, tilting his head to face the dreadlocked and sunglasses-wearing black face at one end of the table.

"Hello Grant."

Grant Dyne stopped his conversation with one of his fellow players, looking at the jacketed figure and very quickly assessing he had no idea who he was. With that done, Grant swiftly switched to his usual interaction with such people: sneering disrespect.

There were more than a few people in the cafeteria who would have assessed that such a treatment was positively kind, compared to some of the ways that Grant could 'interact' with you if he didn't like you. You could hardly blame him. His playing had carried his team to the semi-finals of the state championship last year, and he would have won if their idiotic quarterback hadn't choked and fumbled with seventy seconds remaining. Grant had made sure said quarterback was ostracized so bad that he'd quit the team and changed towns, allowing Grant to get someone he worked better with in the position. The team was undefeated so far this year, and Grant aimed to keep it that way. Considering he was the best thing going in this little crapsack town, he had every right to act however he wanted and do whatever he wanted. Hey, he wasn't breaking any laws, was he?

"What the…who are you, the new school pedo?" Grant snapped, prompting his fellow football players to bark laughter in the traditional nepotism-driven way such groups often did, whether the comment or not possessed anything resembling wit or cleverness. "Get lost asswipe! Go molest one of the special ed kids!"

"You heard Grant." A very large fullback named Winston Pond said as he stood up. He had at least a head of height on the figure, who had not taken his concealed gaze from Grant Dyne despite his rather rude dismissal. "Get lost before we make you lose some…"

The figure raised a hand, gesturing slightly with two fingers.

If Winston Pond had anything remotely resembling the figure's interests, or a brain that functioned beyond the basic processes of bodily function and societal interaction, he might have equated what happened to him as being frozen in carbonite, or suffering the equivalent of a computer crash, or caught in a gaze like the Weeping Angels of old. But he did not, and it took him a few seconds to realize what was happening at all: he could no longer move. He was locked in place.

"I did hear. That's the thing. His time for talk is over." The figure said, even as the various football players and friends of Grant Dyne stared at the sight before them, their brains not yet fully processing what they were seeing. "It's time for someone else to talk. The rest of you are irrelevant."

The figure made a slight gesture with the two fingers, and Winston Pond found he could move again, even as he was violently moved, shoved backwards across the floor like he was a plasticine dummy instead of a very strong and bulky teenager. Even as the group attempted to process this new information, the figure laid his other hand on the table.

"So please, stand aside."

The lunch table that the football team was sitting at was one of the benches-attached types: most of the boys eating at it had been sitting on said attached benches. The only ones sitting on chairs separate from the table had been Winston Pond and Grant himself. As a result, most of the boys' legs were under the table proper.

A second after the figure laid his hand down, the table smashed into the cafeteria floor like a giant foot had stepped on it.

This should have caused horrendous injuries to the boys sitting there, as their legs had been under the table and the table should have done considerable damage to them when it was violently sent into the floor. Instead, only _most _of the table was violently hammered into the ground. The rest of it remained above the boy's legs, as if the segments had been carved out and removed from the force that had been applied to the table. Scared out of their wits by this sudden and drastic change from the norm, all the boys recoiled as one, and found that with the table gone, there wasn't much holding the benches they had been sitting on up, as all the boys found themselves falling awkwardly to the floor.

Grant, having a more proper chair, and having been sitting back when the stranger had appeared, did not knock his seating over when he recoiled. His immediate reaction was to try and get up

"THE HE-!"

"Sit down." The figure said, gesturing at Grant. The star football player found his rise cut off completely, as he was forced back down into his seat. The figure glanced around at the cafeteria, all the noise having abruptly died at the sudden destruction.

"Now, as he said." The figure replied, gesturing at the boys around him. _"__GET LOST.__"_

The figure had expected all of Grant's so called friends to run. He had also expected that some of them might be too shocked or dumb to realize this was the optimum course of action, and do something else.

Four of them did, as they scrambled up and tried to attack the figure.

One brief gesture later, and they were all frozen in place.

Another one, and gravity released its hold on them, the four finding themselves yanked up into the air.

"Would you kindly listen?" The figure said.

The silence shattered into a cataclysm of noise that made the previous sound within the cafeteria seem like the barest whisper, as the students realized that yes, something very very different was happening today, and it was the kind of bad, scary thing that reached down into the deepest instincts of the human mind and brought them roaring to the surface. The two choices presented inside the students, as one, was fight or flight. And they'd all seen what the fight option had resulted in.

The few teachers inside the cafeteria's futile attempts to install order died in less than two seconds, as the students panicked and stampeded towards the exit. It seemed like a miracle that no one got trampled, but that miracle was quickly squashed when the first students slammed into the doors and found them not only closed, but sealed shut.

It should have been a disaster. People should have been crushed against the wall. People should have been at severe risk of being knocked over and trampled underfoot again when the gathering mass changed direction. People should have even attacked each other, under the misguided concept that said people were standing in their way of escape.

None of this happened, for even as the students began to flee, the figure held out a hand towards them.

"Calm down."

And for the dozens of people within the cafeteria, it was like a switch had been thrown in their brains. The overwhelming fear and panic disappeared, causing most of the students to draw up like they had been struck. The figure grimaced beneath his concealing hood, taking his hand away and putting it to his head. He'd felt that.

"You, there. You, there. Rest of you, stopped caring." The figure said, pointing. Grant Dyne's four erstwhile protectors found themselves tossed down to the ground, sliding over to the massed students. The fear had not left them, not entirely, but they were no longer a screaming, destructive mob. Hence, while some fought to get the door open, and some began pulling out their cell phones to dial for help, many were able to watch what occurred.

And somehow, they heard it too. Despite distance, mindset, and possible impediments to the hearing process like damaged ears or poor position, all of them heard it. Inside their minds.

The same way Grant and his friends had when the figure had spoke, calmly, and yet somehow being heard over the din of the high school cafeteria at lunchtime. They had not gotten the chance to notice that strangeness before strangeness had made its presence felt far more keenly.

"Grant Dyne. Dynemite, as the nome de plume goes. Tell me, did you pay any attention in history class?" The figure said, as he picked up the other chair and brought it over to Grant's paralyzed body. "Your name reminds me of an interesting story. The man who invented dynamite, Alfred Nobel, became incredibly rich off his invention. But you see, all he wanted to do was to find a way to better use dynamite's primary ingredient, nitroglycerine. Nitroglycerine was, is, immensely unstable, you see. So unstable that if you stumbled while carrying it, you could blow yourself to bits. Said instability caused the Nobel's factory to explode when someone mis-judged that factor, leading to the deaths of several people including Nobel's youngest brother. A fine motivation to improve on such a dangerous substance, wouldn't you say?" The figure said. "Now, here's the rub. Mr. Nobel was not so stupid to think his invention, which he primarily created for mining purposes, I might add, would not be assessed for weaponry potential, but, as the man himself said 'As soon as men will find that that in one instant whole armies can be utterly destroyed, they surely will abide by golden peace.' As you might have guessed, he was a mite bit off in that prediction. Worse, in the way that humanity will gladly ignore truth and fact to find someone to blame, there was a bit of a mix up a few decades later, when his brother died and a French paper got their facts wrong. They thought _Alfred _had died, and printed a condemning obituary calling Alfred the 'Merchant of Death' and presenting the idea that he'd purposely made dynamite to kill thousands of people and had gleefully gotten rich off the fact. Alfred was so upset that this was how the world would remember him, regardless of truth, that he bequeathed nearly all of his fortune on his actual death to a prize that would be granted to several people every year who tried to help the world. Hence we have the Nobel Prize. And I'm not going to ask if you understand why I brought this up, because it's clear you haven't been able to place my voice. Let's get that out of the way first." The figure said, reaching up and pulling his hood backwards.

Once off, there was a fleeting second where Grant wondered how he couldn't have seen the figure's face before. The key word being fleeting, as it was replaced by the fact that he had no idea who the figure was. Sitting as he was in profile, no one in the cafeteria could identify him either.

A stranger would have noted that Grant and the figure were about the same age. The figure had soft brown hair, arranged in a backwards pattern save for one lone-bang strand that fell over his face. His eyes were the same brown as his hair, and his chin seemed a touch longer than the average person, the extension allowing a somewhat flattering impression of his cheek bones. If one looked closely, they might have seen the faint echo of pitted scars on his cheeks, the remnants of many acne scars, but only if one looked closely. Most women would have classified the features as acceptively attractive, with the exact scale depending on personal taste.

If one ignored his gaze, which was semi-blank and coolly relaxed, like the figure was perusing an interesting TV show instead of the chaos he had not only unleashed, but quelled. Such a look turned his whole expression to deeply unnerving, though Grant had far stronger reasons to be bothered than the figure's expression.

"Still nothing? Understandable. My features have recently lost some bulk. Lucky, I suppose. Things could have gone otherwise, and perhaps made me a great candidate for the Phantom of the Opera. Lon Chaney's, that is, not Gerald Butler's." The figure said, reaching into his pocket. "Still lost, Grant? Maybe this will help."

The figure located what he was searching for, bringing them out with a slow, careful motion before he opened them up. The glasses were square in shape, a dark blue color, and one of the lenses was missing. This did not stop the figure from putting them on.

And when he did, it clicked in Grant's head.

"_Skidmark?__"_

The next second, Grant felt like his rib cage had been caved in and then immediately snapped back into place and shape, the air erupting from his lungs in an agonized gasp. His sunglasses flew off from the impact, clattering to the ground at his feet.

"I thought I'd be able to handle it if you used that name, considering the circumstances. Turns out I was wrong. My apologies." The figure said, even as he removed the glasses and pocketed them again. "But my name is Mark, Grant. No additional letters and all they imply needed."

"What, huh, the huh…" Grant gasped.

"I told you, no talking." Mark said, gesturing again as the football player found his jaw slammed and wired shut like he'd just had severe dental surgery. "Yes Grant, it's me. I know I look somewhat different. What with the considerable loss of mass, and my hair not being a greasy mess over my eyes-I invented a proper shampoo/gel combination, you see- and these glasses that I no longer need. And that's thanks to you, Grant. You and all your friends."

Grant stared, his expression a mix of shock and horror.

"Yes…it's thanks to you and your little gang of sadists making my life a misery that I got Stockholm Syndrome and actually accepted that invitation to your party. Oh, I knew better, I thought I did. After all the taunting and the abuse and the relentless, endless need for you to crush my self of self and defecate on its remains, I knew that you weren't going to turn around and be nice to me. I knew you probably had some scheme planned. I thought maybe, maybe, if I took whatever prank you played on me and reacted well, maybe, just maybe, you'd stop seeing me as a vessel to dump scorn in. If not _you_, maybe someone in this school, despite all their efforts to ostracize me. For something beyond my control. I grasp all too well the lack of development in your understanding, what with age and peer pressure and your own problems…but still. Shame on you. Shame." Mark said, glancing at the assembled students before turning his face back to Grant. As he did, he unzipped his windbreaker, pulling his arms out of the sleeves and tying the sleeves around his neck. He wore a white shirt under the jacket, though that was less noticeable than the more impressive action that he performed, that being that he accomplished the last part without actually touching the arms of said jacket with his hands. "I knew, perfectly well, that Kathy wasn't going to let me anywhere near her when you played that old standby and put us both in the closet. I expected a fakeout of some sort, or trying to talk me into doing something humiliating…but no. You went above and beyond the call of duty. You had her slip out through that hidden door…and then you dropped that squirrel in. The squirrel you'd had locked up and terrorized for who knows how long. You idiot. You complete and utter idiot."

What made the last sentences terrible was the fact that Mark's emotion did not change at all as he spoke them. Instead, he began looking through his pockets again.

"What did you think, that it would be like some Disney cartoon? The animal could have had rabies, or some other disease. It's bites could have become infected. Hell, it was so scared I wouldn't put accidentally chewing out my carotid artery past it. I could have _died_, Grant. Died for the sake of you and your cronies' amusement. Did you consider that? No. Did you even begin to contemplate it? No. Because to you, I wasn't a human being. I was just Skidmark, the loser and geek with the dead parents who died because…well, let's not get off track, shall we? If I was going to list all the pain you and yours have caused me and others in this school, I'd be here all day." Mark said, withdrawing a strangely colored bar of some compact foodstuff. He ate it in three bites, and with a gesture called a water bottle over from the serving area and drank from it in one long gulp. "So I'll just say this. You were right, Grant. Or rather, you made yourself right, when I broke that door open and ran for it while you all laughed, completely blind to your own irresponsible cruelty, out the door, over the fence, out on the road…in front of the truck. You really had the music loud out there. None of you must have heard it, since none of you came to see what happened when I got caught in the headlights. What happened, Grant, was the manifestation of your condemnation. I am _not_ a human being. Not any more."

Mark stood up, and as he did, he gestured and yanked Grant out of the chair like Grant was a puppet on strings.

"A pity for you, isn't that?"

Grant Dyne stared in horror, an expression mirrored on the faces of all the trapped students nearby.

"Then again…Plato said the true measure of a man is what he does with power. Then…_again__…_ that's not really the question here though, is it Grant? As far as I'm concerned, the measure of a man is what he does to those who deserve the power." Mark said, and with another gesture Grant found he had control of his body again. "And that would be you, Grant. You gave me this power, so in a way you deserve it. Exactly what that IS…well, that's your decision. So do it, Grant. You made me. You took it on yourself that this is what I deserved. So…will you think…or will you be what you think a man is?"

Grant hadn't quite seemed to grasp he could move again, and he seemingly jerked in surprise as he realized it. Mark watched, his face impassive.

Grant was in no shape to detect the faint trace of a frown that began forming on Mark's features even before he spoke. Like he knew what was coming before Grant even started.

Which he did.

"You _freak__…_"

"Oh come now Grant, that's been your opinion a long time now. Why not try something new?" Mark said. "Why not take responsibility for what you crafted? Why don't you show remorse? Why don't you act like what you took from me, a human being?"

Grant stared at Mark, and then he took a step back. Their eyes locked.

They say that the eyes were the windows to the soul. In Mark Adal's case, that was very much a literal thing now. Hence, he'd avoided it until necessary.

A small part of him realized he shouldn't have wasted his time. A larger part was somewhat glad he had, if only to confirm the inevitability of what was to come.

Mark's eyes narrowed.

Then they went pitch-black, crackling arcs of energy flashing deep within the inky murk and running up Mark's skull and hair. When he spoke again, his voice carried the tone of a desolate wind across a desert at night.

"One can only allow so much for the sudden and drastic change in the situation, Grant Dyne, but in the end, what's in the core is what counts, and it's clear that what is needed is _what you lack_." Mark said, as the chair, bits of table, and various other bric-a-brac began floating up in the cafeteria. "It really disappoints me. Because of _you_, I have to go against what Plato said. I have to become you."

Grant never saw Mark move. One second he was in front of him, and the next he was speaking in his ear.

"_A FAILURE.__"_

Mark's hand clamped down on Grant's shoulder, and Grant suddenly found his body was no longer his once more. This wasn't like before though, with the sensation of being held down. This time…all sensation vanished, and Grant tumbled to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut. He tried to flee, but his muscles would not answer. He tried to open his mouth to cry out, and found he couldn't. He tried to blink, and found he could not even close his eyes.

Mark Adal looked down at his work, before he turned his gaze back onto the student body. He was pretty sure he heard the distant ring of sirens.

"And so I craft of him what the eye of the beholder allows." Mark said, pausing a second before grimacing. "Hmmmph. I guess I'm not immune to pretentious naval gazing, even as I am and what I like to think now. I guess I'll stick with facts." Mark said, kneeling down beside Grant. "Do you know what I just did, Grant? I just cut off your muscles from your motor cortexes. In other words, all that football glory, all that marvelous beefcake that women admired and lusted after…it's just so much dead weight now. You're a prisoner inside your own head."

The only reaction Grant could make was causing his eyes to bulge. In a rather strange gesture, Mark actually began stroking Grant's head.

"Oh, if left untreated, eventually your body will shut down…but I'm sure you'll get to a hospital and get hooked up to some machines to do that work before then." Mark said. "But after that…nothing much left. No more social interaction. No more enjoying the fruits of your labors, rotten as some of them are. No aspirations, no dreams, no nothing. Just an endless expanse of time, with just your own mind for company. Oh with your family's considerable resources, maybe they'll find a cure…five, ten, twenty years from now. Or maybe not. But that's your life now. I want you to think about that, Grant. I want you to see what feeling helpless gets you. Or rather, what making others feeling helpless and trapped does. Too often, too much…it gets you nothing. Not this time. This time, it makes you nothing. _NOTHING.__"_ Mark said, as a faint hiss of anger finally entered his tone. "The simile is somewhat weak, but I like it anyway. If you want to imagine a picture of the future, imagine a boot stomping on a human face. _FOREVER.__"_

With that, all the floating debris fell to the floor. Mark slowly stood up, turning to face the cowering student body.

"Now then…I don't really have time to punish _all_ of you…and considering there _are _those among you who are blameless or merely ignorant or self-absorbed…and I do apologize to those people. You should know who you are." Mark said, his tone actually sounding apologetic. "So…for the most part, I'll let this example stand for all of you. Remember what you did, and what it got you. And if you don't…you may regret it. You see, _I KNOW WHERE YOU ALL LIVE.__"_

With a snap of his fingers, the doors flung open again. Mark watched as the gathered students, their mind frazzled by what they'd just witnessed, took a few seconds to realize they were no longer trapped in a room with a rather disgruntled former 'peer', and swiftly resumed screaming and running as they poured out of the exit.

Mark did not really hear those screams. The screams that drew his attention echoed inside his own head. They came from Grant, whose brain was afire with all the terror, sorrow, and suffocating grief that the full weight of his condition brought him, and, left with no other means to express it, could only let it shriek inside his own mind.

Mark tried to block out the noise as he crouched back down.

"Do not think I come to this decision lightly, Grant Dyne. You see, I am not you." Mark whispered. Despite the noise, once again, Grant heard him clear as day. "I know every incident and experience that made you into what you are. All the failings and missteps, and how the successes could not compensate. That's my gift and my curse now. Otherwise, I'd have just skinned you alive."

Grant could not feel the fingers on the back of his neck, but somehow he knew they were there anyway.

"I want you to remember this brief period of time. I want you to remember how you came to it. I cannot do much more without changing what you are, and that…really does not count when it matters…but I can make sure you _remember_." Mark said, as his eyes went black and his head crackled with arcing energy. "I do this because, as said, I am not you. And because I know the fear and grief you have within you. Despite what I may want…it resonates within me in turn. And I will be damned if I will become what would be necessary to ignore it." Mark said, leaning down to speak directly in Grant's ear. "Do come out of this something better, Grant. I am tired of being a disappointment."

The pulse of energies that Mark sent firing into Grant's body to reconnect it to his brain proved to be the last bit of stress that the football player could have endured, and he fainted dead away. Mark stood up, rolling his fingers.

"None of you probably realize it, but there's a reason I said _for the most part._" Mark said, and turned towards the cafeteria door as it slammed shut again.

The students within had been reduced to about 1/6 their number, but that didn't decrease the volume much as Mark walked towards them. Mark ignored that, heading for his other target.

"Bi…LADIES. Leave." Mark said, as he gave the schoolgirls in front of him the equivalent of a gentle shove aside. The lone remaining teenage female barely got to realize she was the target before Mark raised his hand and lifted her, pinning her against the wall like a butterfly under glass. The fear on the girl's face rather wrecked her dainty, gorgeous features (which may or may not already have born a trace of plastic surgery, though its owner would deny that possibility to the death), and the tossed carton of milk that had impacted on her head and soaked her red hair had pretty much ruined the expensive work her salon had done on it.

Mark gestured again, and the cafeteria door slammed open again. The girl's eyes frantically darted about, briefly settling on her so-called friends as they left her abandoned to the wolves, before she looked back at Mark Adal's shifted features.

"Hello Cali." Mark said, removing another bar from his coat and eating it before turning his attention back to Calliope "Cali" Mountebank. "Did you think you escaped my attention? Oh no. Not then, and not now."

"M-Mark…"

"Ep pe pe pe. Quiet. I didn't subconsciously plant the instructions that would make sure you didn't get out before I was done because I want to have a chat, Cali." Mark said. "I just wanted to remind you that I'm good with history. Mainly because I recall a time when Grant wasn't a jerk."

"Wh-what?"

"Oh he was always a jock and lacked certain…social graces…but he didn't really start to turn out really _mean_ until a certain event. That would be when he started seeing you. When you two started becoming the king and queen of this school. The Catherine to his…hmmm, well I would say Ivan the Terrible, but that might be a little too strong. In any case, I know. You were the one who put the vile in his soul."

Calliope began to speak again, before Mark closed her mouth like he had with Grant's.

"I don't want to hear it. I already know every single argument or plea you could make, and I already know the source and heart of what you would say, and what you really are. I will not fear my battles, whether they be one or a hundred in scope." Mark said. "You really shouldn't have bothered _me. _We don't run in the same circles, Cali. There was nothing I could do to do you harm. Oh, considering the fact that of the girls you made to suffer as much as I did, that also applied to them, maybe I should just be chalking you up as an overall mean girl, shouldn't I? But that's not it, is it Cali? Or rather…that fact just didn't seem to be enough for you, did it? You weren't just cruel to your 'ilk' and others who should have been outside it. You had to plant the urge into everyone you could get your claws into. So we ALL felt it, regardless of where we were. You took the simple failings of high school students, and you remade so many of them into clones of you, all with your contempt for everyone save you. It made you feel powerful. Made you feel like you had worth. You know, I really would like to unravel all the psychological tangles that causes the end result of a high school junior wanting to stick one of the biggest 'losers' in school in a closet with a crazed squirrel…but as said, I do not have all day. Even as much as I like the sound of my own voice now. But considering how long I went without one, I'm sure you'll indulge me. Like you have a choice." Mark said.

A vague possibility occurred to Mark, and he gestured to slam the cafeteria doors closed again, leaving him alone with Cali and the unconscious Grant. Anyone who came along and wanted to open the doors would find they would need considerable kinetic assistance to open them.

"I'll just paint the broad strokes. I know why you did what you did. I see what your mother did to you, how she made you what you are, the lies she taught you in place of reality…which is only fitting because to her, they were reality. You never really had a chance." Mark said. "So here's your chance, AND reality. Your mother is a heartless termagant who could no more love someone besides herself than she could eat the sun. Your birth, your life…you're nothing more to her than another extension of the stroking of the ego to her. No worth, no use, just there to salve her damage. The way you kept going, you never _would_ be anything more…but for me. So here's my thanks for your trickle-down malice, Cali. I'm going to make you a better person. And since I don't have a lot of time, and I have a lot of work to do, well…I'm afraid this is going to be VERY unpleasant."

"N-NO! PLEASE! HELP ME! PLEASE MARK…!" Calliope shrieked, finally having been given her voice back.

"You'll thank me later, Cali. I'll give you a real sense of self, something to actually be proud of instead of that queenly performance you cling so hard to and are so vicious to cultivate. More then that toxic excuse of a person your mother is would ever give you. But I'm afraid nothing comes easy here in the real world." Mark said, holding a hand up.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING…!"

"I'm going through the heads of every single student in this school. Considering I've caused a panic, it's proving troublesome…but you reap what you sow. Through this, you will gain a greater understanding of what you did. A proper sense of…context." Mark said. "…I will be honest, Cali. I could make this easier for you. But I won't. Because no matter how much I tried to control it with logic and understanding, I can't get rid of the fact that a deep, nasty part of me _really wants to hurt you.__"_

Calliope's eyes went as wide as saucers.

"So, lacking the ability to quiet the voice, I'm giving it as small a role as possible. I recognize my failing there." Mark said. "Maybe you will too, when I'm done. Maybe you'll recognize what you put in people with your callous ways. And maybe you'll realize something else about that. As you take a look at all the pain and woe you brought to others, protected by a complete lack of understanding and empathy in that stone pit you call a heart, you'll realize a weakness in what you do. Someone like you, who can give every nasty bit of herself free reign without consequence…you can dish out some bad things, very bad things. But for people like me, who have to sit and take it, over and over, without respite, without balancing the scales…you'll find that what you are pales in comparison to what blooms within us from your actions. You're just a mean girl in the end, Cali. What you make within us, deep within…it's something _far. far worse_."

Mark's eyes went as black as the night again, as he drew out two fingers.

"_See for yourself.__"_

There was really no way to describe what Calliope Mountebank experienced as Mark Adal force-fed her several lifetimes of teenage grief in the space of moments. If what Grant had experienced was the equivalent of a boot stomping on a face, then what Calliope went through as Mark engulfed her with her bitter legacy was nails raking on a chalkboard. For eternity. Within a second.

"Funny. Your namesake was not just a muse, but the muse of heroic poetry. So…a little poetry for you." Mark said. Calliope could not hear him, even in her head, a low keening coming from her mouth as her mind and her concept of herself was violated by the lives of others. "A horse and a man, above, below/One has a plan, but both must go/Mile after mile, above, beneath/One has a smile, and one has teeth."

A trickle of blood ran from Mark's nose. He ignored it and looked into Calliope's face, her eyes rolled up and her voice no longer even able to produce sound.

"Though the man above may say hello." Mark said. _"__Expect no love from the beast below.__"_

With that, Mark turned away from Calliope, and she collapsed on the floor like Grant.

"You can lead a horticulture, but you can't make her think." Mark mused. Calliope did not answer: her eyes stared dully into the nearly empty cafeteria, as Mark began to walk away.

He paused after a few steps, and after a second he brought his hand to his face. He stood like that a bit more, before he sighed and turned back to Calliope.

"It's insidious, really." Mark said to himself, as he knelt down and went into the rather destructive path he'd cut through Calliope's brain. His vision flared dark again, and he began removing and re-constructing the worst of his 'lesson', which, he'd realized, was far less 'lesson' and more 'revenge', especially considering his understanding of the circumstances. "Let's just hope that's my last slip…and well, if it isn't…you're no longer involved."

The process was chillingly simple, a fact that was not lost on Mark. He hoped it would not prove easier to lose later, as he finished up.

"Goodbye Cali. Make something of yourself. Preferably not what you made of me." Mark said, standing up and turning away. He retrieved a napkin and dabbed at his nose before he produced another foodstuff bar and ate it. He'd have to return and make some more of the product before he set out to the remainder of his tasks.

He had a feeling the mental efforts he was making weren't going to get any easier.

The normal ways out likely lead to encounters Mark wasn't ready to make. He made his own instead, as he glanced at the wall. A second later, a part of it not so much exploded as _shunted_ outward, forming a new door to the outside even as Mark grimaced and put his hand to his head again.

"Mental note. Careful with precision." Mark said, as he began walking out and gathering himself. He had one last task to do.

* * *

Douglas Carter had taught at James Madison High for nearly fifteen years. Sometimes he liked it, sometimes he didn't, and sometimes he felt like he actually making a difference.

If asked, he probably never would have wished for a day like today, at least anywhere in his conscious mind. Deep down, in his dark crevasses, he probably would have admitted that he would have liked SOMETHING to shake students out of the torpor that was most of their lives…

But not like this. Not through screaming and panicking and cries of a monster in the cafeteria, and a door that two large students and a teacher had been unable to open despite throwing their full weight against it. Carter had been taken away by the police with some hesitation, unable to open the door and rescue the students trapped behind it, but he'd quickly realized he could do more good outside as more students streamed out, staff and faculty counting heads and trying to figure out who was missing, not to mention what was going on. Despite his willingness to help, the sheer overwhelming nature of the event eventually started to get to him, and he'd retreated to one of the police cars on the outer circle with the best vantage point to have a cigarette to calm his nerves.

"Hello Mr. Carter."

Carter jerked up, his cigarette falling from his hands as he looked at the young man before him. It took him several seconds to recognize the face.

"…Mark?"

"Yes. I look different, don't I. Interesting times." Mark said. "I just wanted to say goodbye, Mr. Carter. I always liked your classes."

"What, what do you…" Mr. Carter said, before a puzzle piece slid into place. "…Mark?"

"Yes, this is my doing. I stand by its necessity, despite what others will say." Mark said, cocking his head slightly as Carter's eyes darted around. "Don't bother. I'm selectively filtering their optic and audile channels to block me out. They can't see or hear me. Try and claim 'otherwise' about my presence, and you'll just look like the stress got to you. And even if they _could _see me, they couldn't stop me. Not with what I've become."

"…become, Mark?"

"Don't you recognize it, Mr. Carter? I'm an EVO." Mark said, gesturing slightly to himself. The darkness burned in his eyes, his head alighting with mental fire as Carter jerked backwards again. "It's why I'm not fat any more. In learning about my new self, I found that it uses up caloric energy like you wouldn't believe. I had to use my evolved mind to make up a specialized nutrient paste to ingest constantly before my brain burned me out. Didn't do too bad a job stopping it where I did, if I say so myself."

"…Mark, you're…"

"An EVO. Yes. I was somewhat surprised myself. EVO's tend to turn into rejected Kaiju applicants, after all. Seems that's not _always _the case." Mark said. "So maybe I'm not a monster…but to paraphrase W.H Auden, monsters are unspectacular and always human. Well, perhaps in his time. But just because he's not longer wholly right…doesn't mean he was wholly wrong either. Much like my actions here. And I say I did more right than wrong."

"What did you do?"

"You'll find out. I just wanted to say goodbye, as said. I doubt our paths will be crossing any more." Mark said. "Keep up your good work, Mr. Carter. It's probably one of the reasons I didn't turn this school into an abattoir. I know you feel like you can't reach many of us, sometimes…but we're out there. And…stop smoking. It's a filthy habit."

Douglas Carter felt a deep thrum in his head, and he jerked backwards again with such surprise that he nearly fell off the police car. So great was his shock that he didn't notice his nicotine craving was gone. He would notice later, when it failed to come back.

"…what are you doing, Mark?" Carter asked, as the EVO began to walk away.

"I know what happens now. I know who's coming." Mark said. "I don't care. I have accounts to settle. And if anyone wants to get in my way, well, I only give what people have coming to them."

"Mark!"

Mark stopped, turning his head slightly and giving Douglas Carter a slight glance. Despite his stance and its briefness, Carter could sense the fleeting hint of sorrow.

"Mark Adal is…well, perhaps not dead." Mark said. "But…he's gone away. Perhaps never to return, and even less likely to be missed. I'm something else now. All too aware of the great divides across the world. All too aware I'm now one of them."

Mark turned away, walking down the street and away from the school. Like the others before him, and before he briefly found a static-like haze descending on his mind, Douglas Carter heard the words in his head rather then his ears.

"Call me Schism."

When Carter regained his sense of being, the being that was Mark Adal was long gone.

* * *

"_I__'__d start a revolution_

_If I could get up in the morning_

_I__'__d start a revolution_

_If I could get up, get up._

_Start a revolution, start a revolution_

_If I could get up, get up_

_Start a revolution, start a revolution_

_If I could get up in the morning.__"

* * *

_

Writer's Note: Will do more when I see more episodes and get more of an idea about the characters. Please review.


	2. Untouchable

Part 2: Untouchable

_"Nobody is more dangerous than he who images himself pure in heart, for his purity, by definition, is unassailable."_

-James Baldwin

Providence, by the nature of what it was tasked to do, and the always worrisome factor that it could happen virtually anywhere on the globe, had quickly learned to be observational of worldwide events and quick to reach them when one caught their attention. But they could not teleport themselves, as much as they would liked to have been able to do that, and hence it was nearly an hour before the organization had made its way to James Madison High.

The scene there had somewhat surprised Agent Six. That surprise had begun transmuting into a mild sense of alarm as Providence agents had lowered themselves to the ground from the main ship and begun investigating. Agent Six had remained on the main Providence air-ship, the _Daedalus_, and much to a few other agents' surprise, so had Rex. Six was less surprised: Rex had been chomping at the bit to get down and throw down, until Six had announced they had arrived and Rex had taken a look at the scene. Finding no obvious EVO to lock horns with, Rex had accused Six of yanking his chain and skulked off to try and amuse himself until the agent 'bothered to tell him the truth'. He was currently sitting on a desk in a corner, playing a handheld video game system. Well, perhaps playing was a strong word, as Rex was just holding it with one hand and looking at it. His nanites did the rest. Consequently, Rex's characters in games tended never to die, or even get hit. Six sometimes wondered if Rex even realized that was why he tended to get bored of his games so fast.

Bobo had come along as well, as he usually did, but at least he was doing something practical, which happened to be cleaning and preparing his weapons. He wasn't the best influence on Rex, Six thought sometimes, but at least he was attentive and competent in the field. Six, in the mean time, was doing _his _job, which in this case was collecting and feeding the data the agents on the ground were gathering back to Dr. Holiday, while he assembled the eyewitnesses and local authority's reports in case they were needed later.

"It's more subdued than the readings I normally receive, Six, but not so much that it's not clear. An EVO was definitely here. There's nothing else that could even remotely be similar to the data you've sent back here. Not without the town being a smoking crater anyway." Dr. Holiday said on the hologram screen.

"Still time for 'dat." Bobo commented, putting down his gun and producing a chocolate bar that he made disappear so fast Six almost wondered if it had even existed in the first place.

"Oh come on! I only did that once! And it was in the rainforest! And I didn't know the missiles I threw at that stone EVO had so much kick! Geez!" Rex complained. Six ignored the gripe of his erstwhile charge, peering over some of the readings on other screens before looking back at Dr. Holiday.

"I'm not sure if we've had anything quite like this before, doctor."

"I noticed, Six. Have you managed to compile a proper profile yet?"

"Our witnesses are dozens of terrified teenagers for the most part. Hardly the most observant breed. Even less so in a crisis." Six said, typing at the keypad. "The current consensus seems to be that the EVO had some sort of gravity manipulation power, but that's rough…"

"No, when I get involved, THAT'S when it'll get rough!" Rex declared, walking over in the hopes that he could prod Agent Six into taking him where the action was. The withering look the agent gave him made him realize that choice of action was a mistake.

"Well, Rex. Since you're so eager to do SOMETHING, why don't we see what you _can _do? What do you see down there Rex?" Six asked in a cool tone.

"A bunch of people dearly in need of a hero, like say, ME?" Rex said, flicking his goggles in a cocky motion. The way Six's eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses indicated that Rex had taken the tossed ball and hit a pop fly into center field with it.

"Perhaps you should attempt a CLOSER observation." Six said. Rex sighed and tried to fake being analytical. He even found THAT hard, as he looked at the various images of the school, students, and…

"…wait a sec." Rex said, looking at Six. "This is where the EVO attacked?"

"Yes Rex."

"…Then where's all the destruction?" Rex said, turning back to the images. "Yeah doesn't look like a picnic…but if there's anything I know, it's the scene of an EVO manifestation."

"Then clearly you don't know enough, Rex. This _is_ one." Six said. "So tell me, what does that suggest to you?"

"…the clear forerunner in the world's nicest EVO contest? I dunno, Six." Rex said. "EVO's aren't supposed to act this way."

"Correction, kid." Bobo said, walking up. "The average EVO doesn't. Based on what we're looking at, this ain't going to be average."

"What? You mean Van Kleiss is involved?"

"That's not the impression I've been given." Six said, having returned his attention to the computer banks. "From what I've gathered, the instigator seems to be…this boy, Mark Adal."

The computer did not do well in reproducing the yearbook photo in a 3D hologram display, but even that couldn't hide the fact that the semi-bloated, solemn face of Mark Adal pretty much screamed to Rex 'Low On The High School Totem Pole'. At least there was a small part of him that felt bad for his judgment, though it quickly vanished as Rex realized that Mark's appearance and the situation below him, past and present, was likely a toxic mix.

"Whoo boy. Photogeneric, he ain't." Bobo commented.

"We have no guarantee that he still looks like this. He's an EVO, after all." Agent Six said, doing more typing. "Doctor Holiday, can we trace him?"

"Sorry Six. The lesser remains of the biometric energy can only confirm an EVO was there. Anything else, we'd need another manifestation."

"Ie, an attack. Figures." Six murmured. "Fine. Dig into every single record there is of Mark Adal, public, private, everything. I want to know everything there is about him and I want to know it yesterday."

"What did he do down there?" Rex asked.

"He attacked some of the students. They're not dead, or dying, but beyond that exactly what he did to them isn't clear. Eyewitnesses accounts aren't helping." Six said.

"…okay…so, if I was a dork loser in school…and I became an EVO…and I didn't become mindless…" Rex said, tapping a finger on the wall. "I got revenge…then I walked off…what would I want…what would…Six, I have it! Go scan all the nearby clubs and hot spots! I'd want to show I'm not a loser anymore and have some of the…!"

Six held up a hand for Rex to be silent, pressing a button that replaced Mark Adal's hologram presentation with one of the masked Providence agents.

"Report. You have something?"

"Yes sir. We just intercepted this call from the local lines, Agent Six. We thought you'd want to hear it."

"Play it." Six said. The agent's face and head disappeared, replaced with wavy lines that vibrated as the voices on the call spoke.

"_911, what is your emergency?"_

"_I strongly suggest you send…well, probably everything you have available to…1880 Poling Street."_

"_Sir what are you…"_

"_Things are about to get interesting. But I do warn you, your interests happen to be to get in and get out. And if anything gets in my way, I'll __**take **__it out."_

"_Sir I ask you to…sir? Are you there? Sir! Sir please don't…!"_

"That was pretty much it, Agent Six." The Providence agent said as his face returned on the screen.

"Did you trace the call?"

"Yes sir. It's a block from the address given."

"And what is at that address, agent?"

"Large structure sir. Contains several businesses…but it's primarily the headquarters of Domon, Quisling, and Hurt. A large attorney's office."

"…understood. Standby." Agent Six said, cutting off the direct communication's channel and opening a universal one. "Attention all Providence Agents. Return to the _Daedalus _immediately. If you're not back up here in two minutes we're leaving you behind and it will not reflect well on your record. Dr. Holiday, did you hear that report?"

"Yes Six."

"What do you make of it?"

"…I'm really not sure Six."

"Understood. I guess we'll have to gather more information in the field." Six said, looking at Rex, who was starting to get the idea that combat was forthcoming. "Prepare yourself, Rex. We don't know what we're up against, but it's not likely to be easy."

"Please. When I don't make things look easy, I make them look _good._" Rex commented, snapping on his goggles.

"Hmmm." Six said, glancing back at the screens before him, fresh data running over them as the _Daedalus _began to shift. It was rare, but occasionally he could enter what could generously be described as a wistful mood, especially when he was trying to put a puzzle together. "The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers. Do you know who said that, Rex?"

"…you?"

The look Six gave Rex made it clear he was wrong. Despite the subtle indication he hadn't expected Rex to know the speaker, Rex still felt cross. Hell, maybe said subtle indication was what made him cross.

"Technically he's right, suits, but hey. Kid, no offense, but try and leave thinkin' to the professionals unless asked." Bobo said.

"None taken." Rex replied, though his tone was clear that he was lying through his teeth.

* * *

Nicolas Burke, if you'd asked him, wouldn't have been able to say why he'd stopped, turned on his heel, and started walking in the opposite direction. If asked, he would have just said that he felt a very powerful urge to go that way, and that he'd probably do best if he didn't defy said urge. Perhaps more strangely, he didn't notice all the other people around him all obeying similar urges, to the point that people were getting out of their cars and walking his way. From the loud noises of honking horns, it was clear that not everyone shared this sudden compulsion. Just the people on the streets of Poling, Issaiak, and Sapphire, who all marched on like their lives depended on it.

The only one who did not follow the direction was its instigator. Schism, instead, walked across the street, barely sparing the towering glass skyscraper a glance upward before heading towards the front door.

The young woman inside, one Clara Reilly, had not noticed the sudden exodus of the people outside the building. Her actual position at 1880 Poling was fluid, but one of her main jobs was serving as a tour guide for the very modern building, something that suited her bright, chirpy personality well. It was what she was doing at the moment, and she noticed the dull, slacking expressions spread over her tour's faces before she realized someone had come through the door and was approaching her. That realization was all she really got to have, as a fog seemed to settle on her mind and vision even as she turned to look in the direction her mind has sensed motion from.

The voice whispered in her ear.

"May I borrow your cell phone?"

"Kay." Clara said dully, not bothering to question how the figure knew she had a cell phone, instead reaching into her vest pocket and producing it.

"Thank you. I'll return it." Schism said, taking it from her hand. "Now…would you leave please?"

"Kay." Clara said, beginning to walk towards the door with the people she'd been guiding. Schism did not spare them another glance, instead looking upward.

And reaching out.

* * *

There were a fair number of men in the board room, but in the event that was about to follow, the only one who mattered was Merrick Quisling.

It wasn't hard to analyze the man. He was the tallest one in the room, and wore a head of full black hair and a black beard, not a trace of white showing despite his advancing age. The fact that anyone who questioned overtly whether he had a dye job done often swiftly found themselves without _a _job was all most needed to know about Merrick. He'd spent his life being hard and tolerating nothing but perfection or silence, and it had rewarded him well, which indicated to him that if anything, he was too nice in the _often_ thing. Most people knew that and reacted appropriately, or learned the consequences. Merrick's nose, of the type people called roman, has the consistency of granite in that regard.

However, like many men, the actions and harshness of Merrick Quisling had a concealing purpose. In Merrick's case, it was fear, and a lifelong one. Merrick in his younger days had feared disasters, natural and human-made or driven, the concept of factors outside his control being a threat to him always on his mind. He had learned over his life how to temper those fears, by controlling his environment in every way he could and doing his best to keep society functioning in the way he saw best.

The creation of EVO's, though, had no such defense: anyone could become one, at any time. With that knowledge forming a new focus on his fear, Merrick had compensated as best he could: part of the reason his firm made its headquarters at 1880 Poling was how modern the building was. Specifically, how it was modern enough to possess many advanced security systems that had been installed to protect against EVO attack, systems that Merrick had poured a fair chunk of his own money in to improve on and keep up to date. With such a thing done, Merrick could function as the cold, efficient lawyer that his clients paid well for and his opponents themselves feared, and continue on in the world in his attempts to carve out an ever-increasing piece for himself, his business, and for the future of his family.

He would never realize just how his old fears and new were about to collide.

Merrick wore a fine and expensive suit, as people of his stripe tended to. He also had a cell phone that approximately two people knew the number to, and he was one of them. Considering he never used a cell phone otherwise, the fact that it began ringing mid-meeting was enough to make the speaker in said meeting pause. Looking irritated, Merrick considered ignoring the call, but ultimately decided otherwise. The only other person who knew the number must have had a very good reason.

"I apologize." Merrick said, removing the phone and opening it. "Hello?"

Silence.

"Charleston, if you are calling, you had best…"

"_Ohhhh death__…"_

Everyone in the board room saw Merrick tense up at the soft, singsong tone that had begun speaking in his ear. It was not the voice of Charleston.

Even then, Merrick knew things were not going to end well.

* * *

"_Ohhhhhhhh death__…__Ohhhhhh death__…"_Schism whispered into the cell phone. Getting the number wasn't that hard, especially when there was only one person in the building who had it in his mind and Schism was calling him. _"__Won__'__t you spare me over another year_…**NO.**"

Schism snapped the phone shut, holding it up and over his shoulder before opening his fingers. The device floated away from him, heading towards the open door that Schism had come through moments before. It slipped through the gateway just before said door closed.

Clara Reilly barely noticed the phone floating over to her and inserting itself back into her pocket. Her mind was totally devoted to leaving.

* * *

Merrick Quisling was not so rattled by the strange call that he lost his senses, but they slipped enough to cause him to stand up.

"…My apologies, gentlemen. I think they had the wrong number."

* * *

Schism had not put a mental compulsion in everyone in the immediate area, as it turned out. The security guard who had noticed the weird way Clara and her tour group had suddenly exited the building, one Roy Nenden, was one of them, as he left his small office and saw Schism.

"What the hell is going on? Who are YOU?"

"No one of consequence. To you." Schism said. Roy blinked for another second, and then quickly realized that whatever was going on, he doubted this kid with his jacket tied over his shoulders meant anything good, and went for his pepper spray.

His hand froze in place a foot from the weapon. The rest of his body immediately followed.

"I need to borrow this." Schism said, plucking Roy's radio from his harness even as he walked past him. Once he was behind the security guard, he reached behind himself and tapped Roy on the head, causing Roy to instantly lose consciousness and slump to the ground.

"Attention all men, women, and…well, perhaps children, I didn't bother getting your company name and I don't know its hiring practices." Schism said into the radio. "I know that you have been hired to guard and protect this building and its people. I am afraid that today, you are going to have to not do your jobs in regards to one of those people. Merrick Quisling. That's all I want. Him. Stay out of my way, and you'll stay in good health. Do your jobs, well…then this will be a bad work day. You cannot stop me, and you _will_ not stop me. That's all I'll say."

Schism didn't bother returning the radio to Roy's possession, instead tossing it to the ground and heading for the stairs.

Much to his annoyance, the first security guards he met had clearly decided not to listen to him.

* * *

Merrick had begun to settle back down in his chair when the door burst open, causing him to surge back up. The fact that it was people he knew, that being members of his private security company GrippCo and his hand-picked superior on the field, Elwood Wynn, did not calm his nerves.

"Sirs, I'm afraid we have a situation. We're escorting you all from the building." Wynn said, the armored security men and women gathering around the confused businessmen and beginning to herd them out the door.

"What sort of situation?" Merrick asked, trying to keep his voice level.

"Uncertain sir. But I've decided it's best that we move." Wynn said, his face covered with a black balaclava and goggles, his voice the only way Merrick was able to tell him apart from his people.

"Is it an EVO?" Merrick asked when Wynn was close, keeping his voice low so no one could hear.

"Believe me sir, if I knew, I would tell you." Wynn said, producing his own radio. "Heywood we're heading to transport on the roof."

There was no answer.

"Heywood, report in!"

"…sir…I…" Heywood's strangled voice said over the radio, causing both Wynn and Merrick to stop. "I can't…control myself…"

Over the radio came the buzzing chatter Wynn recognized as the sound of one of his men's energy firearms being discharged. The group didn't need the radio to hear the low thumping noise from the rooftop, the sound of the helicopter transport exploding managing to filter down through the several floors.

"Heywood! HEYWOOD!"

"…I don't think…the roof is an option any more sir…" Heywood's rasping tone managed to get out, before the connection completely went dead. To Wynn's credit, he took it in stride, turning back to Merrick.

"Sir, the roof is compromised. We'll have to take you down the stairs…"

"No. No." Merrick said, confused and trying to not let it affect him. "Take me to my office. Lock the floor down."

"Sir we could corner ourselves…"

"Do as I say!" Merrick snapped.

"Very well, sir. The authorities have been dispatched. If need be, we'll initiate the countermeasures over the entire building…" Wynn said, separating Merrick from the rest of the businessmen and indicating for his people to escort them down the route he would have taken had he not been ordered otherwise, guiding Merrick to his destination as he got on his radio again. Once they were out of his sight, they were quite literally out of the story, though Wynn himself did not know that.

"Wynn here. Alarm Code Sigma Zeta Gamma Ten-Seventeen, code word 'Walrus'. Initiate full lockdown of upper building. Wait until my command to trigger the final step. Every other unit, get up here and cluster around the courtroom. Full fire, shoot to kill." Wynn said, keeping his radio at hand and listening to reports as he guided Merrick to his main office.

Even as he did, sheets of metal began sliding down over the windows outside the building. In the hallways, the walls began opening up to produce more metal barricades, sealing off all the adjacent rooms and producing laser grids and other unpleasant surprises for anyone who triggered them. Wynn passed by several of his people setting up positions, heading for Merrick's office. He had just reached the door when he heard that Unit 6 was not reporting in, which was the last straw in his doubts that he was over-reacting. He entered Merrick's office and closed the door behind them.

"This is Wynn. Phi Beta, Seven-Two. Code word Habitat. Seal us in."

The metallic barriers emerged from the walls both inside and outside Merrick's office, closing and locking together as his normal office door was replaced with one of thick metal and specialized plastic. The walls of his office underwent a similar transformation, turning to cold steel and knocking Merrick's paintings and certificates to the floor. Merrick was too nervous and too busy trying to conceal it to notice, even though Wynn was too busy himself to pay attention to such things, as he organized his men outside.

Within seconds, the GrippCo employees were assembled, prepared, and waiting outside in the hallways, over two dozen of them and ready to handle any kind of threat that came calling.  
"Sir, do you want me to prepare your emergency transport?" Wynn asked Merrick.

"Have you worked out all the kinks?"

"All the important ones, sir."

"What about the _UN_important ones?"

"That's still a possibility sir."

"What do I PAY you for?"

"All within our ability sir. Don't worry, you're in good hands." Wynn said, before issuing a few more instructions to his men. The guardians outside took them and waited.

And waited.

And waited. Some believed they could hear the faint sound of sirens outside.

But the sound that finally came to all of them did not touch their ears.

"_Well what is this that I can__'__t see, with ice cold hands taking hold of me__…"_

None of the GrippCo security ever understood what had happened. One moment they were alone, and the next Schism was standing among them. None of them had ever had the slightest clue he was there until he appeared, even with their various scanners.

Of course, when minds were closed, however forcibly the process…that tended to be the case.

And as fast as the GrippCo people were, they were not fast enough to stop Schism from snapping his fingers.

* * *

"Seigal come on. Seigal! Thurtt? Stoccup?" Wynn said into his radio. He had been checking in with his men every two minutes. This time, he got no answer.

That fact, and more specifically that he was getting no response at all, not even ambient noise, raised the closest thing to fear in his well-trained mind, and he re-holstered his radio and turned to Merrick. "It's gone dead, sir. May be mechanical error…but I doubt it."

"…maybe I _will _take that transport."

"I'll send a signal to bring it up sir, but don't panic just yet." Wynn said. He did not really like Merrick Quisling, but he believed in doing his job well and a terrified client was not part of that. "These walls are virtually off the conveyor belt in terms of protective design: you could drive a M-1 Abrams Tank up the stairs and empty its main cannon into them, and not get through."

"Isn't there a keypad outside? For the door?"

"Yes, but believe me, unlike what movies show you, no one is overriding or bypassing it, no matter WHAT they do." Wynn said, having produced a small electronics device he was entering commands into. "The enter code is eighteen digits long, letters AND numbers, the keypad locks itself out of the system if one wrong answer is entered, and only I know the code. And just to be on the safe side I'm sending a command to randomize…"

For a moment, Wynn thought he was hearing things, as the low smooth hiss sounded behind him. The next second brought the cold reality slamming home.

The door was opening.

Wynn whirled around, as Schism took his hand off the keypad.

"A little too slow, soldier." Schism said. Wynn's hand went for his sidearm with amazing speed, but the security leader found that the speed of thought was faster, his body locking up in mid-draw. "And once again."

Wynn had spent a fair bit of his life preparing for combat, first in the Marines and then in GrippCo. He believed he knew how to resist just about anything an enemy could do to him…

And that said belief had been wrong, as the murk descended on his brain. Then came the words, the words he could not defy.

Merrick stared in horror at the sight, as Wynn took his hand off his gun and shuffled past Schism, his body slack like he was sleepwalking. Beyond Wynn and the intruder, Merrick could see the limp bodies of the other GrippCo members filling the hallways before him, unconscious or worse.

Then he looked at Schism, and his burning black eyes.

"_When God has come and the devil takes hold__…"_ Schism said, pointing at Merrick as he hummed in the same singsong tune Merrick had heard over the phone. _"__Lord have mercy on your soul.__"_


	3. Good Intentions

Chapter 3: Good Intentions

"_Daedalus_ is on route. Green Squad, report in." Agent Six said into the universal communication's band. He was still standing in front of his computer banks, doing a little more data crunching and feeling the hum of the ship's engines in his feet as it took them into the city and 1880 Poling Street. Rex and Bobo stood nearby, Bobo getting his guns ready and Rex being oddly quiet.

"Green Three here, sir." A Providence agent said. Not all of the organization's members had been outside James Madison High: Providence had learned through hard experience to always have a squad scattered around primary target areas in case they radically or abruptly shifted. "The local authorities have arrived and are attempting to…"

"Pull rank with all of them. Get them to seal off as many blocks around that building as they can. Terrify them if we have to, I'd rather lie to them then put their lives at risk." Six said.

"Understood sir. May I report on the odd circumstances here?"

"Odd circumstances agent?"

"Well, the local authorities are interacting with large groups of very confused people who don't seem to understand why they're…well, where they are. None of our people have…" The Providence agent trailed off.

"Corporal, report! What's going on?"

"Uh, sir…the building just went into lockdown."

"Lockdown?"

"The upper half just sealed itself in metal. I think it's an EVO based defense system sir but…I don't see any trace of an EVO…"

"WITHDRAW FROM THAT BUILDING CORPORAL. GET THE PEOPLE CLEAR. LOCAL AUTHORITIES INCLUDED." Agent Six ordered, feeling the slightest twitch of nervous apprehension. He had a near-infallible poker face, but his heart still worked, despite what some (mostly Rex) would say, and he knew he would never like situations with the degree of unknown and/or unconfirmed variables like this one had. He wasn't going to put his 'normal' people at risk until he had some idea of what they were facing.

"Yes sir." Green Three said. "Do you wish to hear the other intelligence gathered?"

"Get everyone clear first, corporal." Agent Six said, turning to Rex, who had been standing nearby, still listening with his unusual quietness. "You heard the situation, Rex. You'd better be ready to go in hard and fast."

"Please, Six." Rex said, lines of power surging up his arm. "That's my favorite way."

* * *

Green Three, aka Gordon Daw, wasn't sure if he'd made the right choice in not insisting in telling his commanding officer the other intelligence first. True, it was scrambled, but the fact that there were a bunch of businessmen wanting to know what had interrupted their meeting and forced them from their building with armed guard stood out among the rest of the confused masses, who seemed to have no idea what they'd done at all…

* * *

Which, with bitter irony, was really what the whole situation boiled down to, in Schism's harshly-learned viewpoint. He knew it even before he pointed at Merrick Quisling.

He did not let it change his decision. Neither did the look of absolute terror on Merrick's face, before he turned and fled towards the corner of the room.

"Ah ah." Schism said, turning his pointing hand into a clenching outward gesture. Merrick froze in his tracks, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. He looked futilely at the odd bulge in the corner of his room, where the door to his escape capsule lay. It might as well have been on the moon, as Schism spun Merrick around to face him. With another pointing gesture, he yanked the chair out from behind Merrick's desk and pulled it into the lawyer from behind, causing Merrick to collapse into it.

"I didn't go to all the trouble of arranging a face to face meeting for you to duck out on me, Mr. Quisling." Schism said, walking towards the businessman. Merrick opened his mouth to scream, and found it swallowed back into his throat as Schism gestured and his jaw slammed shut. "No no. Not yet."

Schism gestured behind himself, and the door slammed shut, locking the two of them in the room. With another gesture, Schism caved in the number pad outside.

"Now then…I'm going to let you talk. You are going to be quiet, oh so quiet…or I'll make _sure _you are. Do we have an understanding?" Schism asked. Merrick nodded in mute terror, and felt the pressure on his jaw relax.

"W-who are y-y-you…?" Merrick said, a small part of himself growing sick at the stutter that he'd worked so hard to annihilate back in adolescence had proven to be still lurking under the rocks of his mind, just waiting for them to be overturned.

"A nice display you have down there. Wandered through it on my way up." Schism said, seemingly ignoring the question. The display in question had been one of Merrick's hobbies: a collection of World War II memorabilia and exhibits. Merrick keep it in his place of work rather then at home partly because he liked to show it off and partly because he thought it looked good for certain older clients. "But…and I'm not sure if you noticed this yourself…I saw a theme."

"W-what?"

"Everything displayed had one thing in common. Omaha. Midway. Iwo Jima. They were all American battlefields." Schism said, turning around and putting his back to Merrick as he began walking back towards the door. "Now, I will admit, I haven't exactly been to a large number of museums in my day…but as far as I can tell from what I've seen, World War II sections tend to be, ah, what is the word, more…expansive?"

"What?"

"Going to be quoting _Pulp Fiction _before I'm done here, I get the feeling." Schism said, glancing back. "There's a reason they were called _WORLD_ Wars, Mr. Quisling. But, then again, who am I to tell you what parts of history to study, admire, and collect from? America came out of that war a superpower. It may have been one of the deciding factors from the casualties going into the hundreds of millions instead of the tens. There's nothing wrong with being proud of your country…except…well, except…"

Schism raised a hand, as if he was trying to nail down a stray thought. The gesture was purely ceremonial.

"I've noticed something. Something that your display brings back to mind." Schism said, turning back around. "A lot of American history, well…it seems to revolve around the idea that America won the war single-handedly. That it marched into the chaos of Europe after Japan bloodied its nose with an unprovoked, cowardly sneak attack, and strode the battlefields like a colossus, putting everything right in its wake. We slapped our Japs and chopped our Krauts and anything else the propaganda espoused, for we were good and they were evil and they would _suffer_ for it. But…that's just the thing, Mr. Quisling. All that demonizing, all those condemnations of the Axis powers…a lot of it WAS propaganda. Oh yes, we have the Holocaust. Unit 731. The Bataan Death March, though that was, as terrible as it was, a tragic case of cultural differences…and there are likely other incidents as well. America helped bring an end to them, maybe quicker than all the rest of the Allies could have as they stood in December 1941. For that, it deserves praise and respect. But not all of it, Mr. Quisling. The concept that one country, even one like ours, can make everything right in a WORLD war, well…that's just more propaganda in the end. So, I really must ask you…why are you taking the propaganda…and trying to present it as history?"

Merrick stared at the strange young man, his fear beginning to mix with confusion.

"But…then again…it's all too easy to project current history and politics into the past. So let's try not to do that." Schism said, as he began walking back towards Merrick. "Let's try not to fault American history and entertainment for forgetting about the British. And the French. And the Canadians, the Australians, the Polish, the Indians, the Chinese…and of course, the Russians. After all, the Russians only suffered, what was it…thirty million casualties? Only ten of those being military? That pales in comparison to America's…what was it again…four hundred thousand? Oh, I'm not dismissing our lost boys. Valiant life and death holds no national borders, despite what so many people would say." Schism said, as he walked up fully to Merrick's chair. "That's the rub, isn't it Merrick? It comes down to what people SAY, not what people DID. I mean, why give the French any credit, the cheese eating surrender monkeys? Why give our former tea-sipping oppressors any praise after they completely fouled up the first war years and had to run back to their island and cower while the Huns tried to sink the whole thing, before we came and saved them? And the Russians? Heaven forfend we say ANYTHING about those pinko Commie oppressors, better dead than red and watch out, card-carrying Communists are everywhere, it's only too bad Germany didn't kill TWICE as many. And the rest aren't even worth consideration. This is AMERICA, and it's not the first time we fouled up the facts because the story sounds better. It's why the song is about Paul Revere and not Isreal Bissel, why Lincoln started a war to free the slaves instead of repairing the country at any cost, why the average history student is taught about the Spanish/American war and not the Philippine/American war…and if you're wondering about the point of all this rambling is, I'm getting there. And I digress. It's not like America is alone in its retrofitting of the past, and for all its flaws, failings, even crimes…it's a lot better than a lot of the alternatives. America. Land of Opportunity. Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness."

Schism reached into one of his pockets, withdrawing what appeared to be a photo.

"Truth and Justice."

And…something else on a silver chain.

"And one that's not often included with those other three, but one I feel is valid here." Schism said, dangling the cross in front of Merrick. "SEPERATION OF CHURCH AND STATE."

Merrick's eyes flicked from the cross to Schism's face, the EVO's expression unreadable. His attention was quickly drawn to the photo as Schism held it up.

"Do you recognize this, Mr. Quisling? Or have you gone down the easier path? Have you tried to rewrite your own history? Like that display downstairs does?"

Merrick stared at the photo, trying dearly to place the man, woman, and child sitting at the picnic the photo displayed. A typical happy family.

"…I…I…"

"You don't. It's almost understandable." Schism said. "Not just in terms of memory. I can feel your fear."

"What?"

"Not just your immediate fear. Your defining fears. The ones cast into you all the way back into your childhood." Schism said. "I can see what you did to try and calm them. I won't fault you for that. It's a terrible thing to live in fear. I know that all too well."

"…Then…what…"

"FEAR WILL ONLY TAKE YOU SO FAR, MR. QUISLING. AFTER THAT…IS WHERE I COME IN." Schism hissed, his eyes flaring black. Merrick tried to cringe backwards into his chair and found there was no give left, no escape from those pits of night. "You see, you didn't just try and salve your fears by seeking this position you hold, or wiring this building with the security it has. _Those _are perfectly understandable. It's when you can fish through the details, the fine details…that it all falls away. Because the things you fear, it's not just physical matters. Natural disasters and all that. It's socio-political fears as well. Subtle fears that the world you know, the world that comforts you, could change…and that any change, any at all, is simply not acceptable. You keep it well concealed, if only for the sake of your client base, but you can't hide it from me. I see the tiny dark spots in your mind that spoke of doom and Armageddon for those nasty little reasons, those changes you didn't like, those changes your parents and culture probably hated so much that you picked it up by osmosis. So you tried to salve them as well. And that's why I'm here."

"I-I don't understand what you're talking about? Please, just…!"

"What? Let you go? No. Explain? I thought you were smarter than this, Merrick." Schism said, holding up the necklace again. "I didn't bother determining exactly what _this _means to you, but I know what many of its values did. I also noticed the holes in logic and reasoning that so many people fall into when it comes to them, how they mix with the unfortunate parts of the human animal. I could speechify on those as well…but I won't. I'll get to the point. My name is Mark Adal."

Merrick stared.

"My parents were Ross and Sara Adal."

And finally, after a few seconds, recognition bloomed in Merrick's eyes.

"Oh my-"

"Shut up." Schism said. "I want you to understand something. No matter what you may think, no matter what your intentions were, YOU DESERVE THIS."

"I…!"

"I KNOW YOUR REASONING! EVERY SINGLE, SOLITARY LAYER OF IT, CLEAN, DIRTY, AND GRAY!" Schism snapped. "All that matters to me is what you felt was safe. What you thought was _good. _To try and achieve that, you did many things. Including donating money to various organizations and charities, so what you felt was best could continue to be taught and held onto in the face of an ever-uncertain world. So very noble, turning your own aspects of yourself to aid others…except to make sure _you _were comfortable in your viewing of the world, you didn't bother looking too closely to where some of it went. You just looked to the surface, and moved on. What was good for you was good for the world. Maybe you hurt other people due to that, but they're not in this room, I AM."

"Ma-"

Merrick's jaw snapped shut before the lawyer could finish. Schism glanced towards the wall briefly, then downwards before returning his attention to Merrick.

"Because of you, a certain organization not only got the funds to continue operating, it got the justification it so dearly craved that its little creed was righteous and true. It got to keep going until a certain man decided he knew, KNEW, that he had to strike a blow for his fellows, a mighty blow that he was sure the world would applaud. And so one day my parents, who persisted in their field despite how unappreciated it was, who just wanted to help a very, very complicated issue where they could…they got into their car, and it exploded. Wait, no. My dad got into our car and it exploded. My mom was with me ten feet away as we walked towards it. She took a piece of shrapnel right between the eyes. Do you know what it's like, sitting on the ground, in shock, with your mother's cranial matter sliding down your face? Do you? Because I do."

The confusion had fallen away from Merrick, replaced again by sheer terror. Schism ignored it. He was beyond its calling now.

"This isn't mine." Merrick said, indicating the cross. "It's my aunt's. She stopped wearing it when the greater investigation into the whole mess stalled out. When it became clear that not only were no charges going to be brought against you for your hand in what you did, but that you were never even going to acknowledge the event in any shape or form. After all, nothing concrete linked you to the crime. Just all sorts of intangible possibilities, a thrown-out confession which may or may not have been a pack of lies and shifting of blame…and that faint stink of friends in high places sweeping an 'unfortunate incident' under the rug. Oh yes, and that nasty tangle that persists despite the separation of church and state, you remember that right? Though that may not involve you. The parts that did though? The fact that you would never see anything but what you wanted for them? Between that, and all the vile lunacy the man who went to prison spewed in that courtroom, well…my aunt just stopped believing. She couldn't understand a world where men like you and men like him both claim they did the right thing. And me? Well…you've seen the end result of me, though admittedly serendipity has played a great role in my presence here."

Schism then did something very strange, though Merrick was too scared to notice: after putting away the picture and cross, he produced a food-stuffs bar and ate it before continuing.

"This isn't a simple issue, I know. Until I came here, I wasn't sure what I was going to do. Then I looked up, past your building, seeking and saw you. And knew you. And realized that when it comes to hoping for the best and expecting the worst, expectations always seem to come more, and loom larger." Schism said. "You don't feel anything. Hell, you feel nothing so well, you can drive the whole incident from your memory. Worse, there's nothing there to FEEL. Anything that could possibly think you did the wrong thing was long scoured away before you ever signed a check. I might as well ask you to flap your arms and fly. But what should I expect, after all? You're a lawyer. Ha ha, old joke, but in all seriousness…what should I expect? You're in the business of business. What use is there for a heart there? Especially when it makes you think about just how keen the fears of the mind are? The fears you've tried so hard to quiet?"

Schism glanced upward again, then down, and then back at his prisoner.

"And the worst part, the part that scares _me_? It's the fact that people like you…you're winning. People like you, you have, you ARE, taking history, capitalism, hell, even religion, and twisting it into something ugly. And by the nature of who you are, and the positions you stand on, you've made so many, too many, think that what you represent is the true face of it. Worse, you've done it so long that people are beginning to accept it as the norm. To act like YOU, since you are so apparently richly rewarded. So they cover for you when your fear does something terrible. So they think they will be offered parades and medals for committing cold-blooded first degree murder because they thought that was the best and only way to solve the Gordian knot of _Roe vs. Wade. _And so people shrug, say that's how it goes, and stop caring when it's clear that the world isn't working right, but too many of the people in charge want it that way. All except for the people who are truly touched by its wrongness. For the schisms that have formed between the right thing and the easy, accepted thing. For the most part, all they do is cry, suffer, and let it poison them until death. Almost always. Almost…_Not this time."_

The energy began crackling across Schism's head, his brown hair beginning to stand up from the forces he was summoning.

"You don't get to rewrite history this time, Mr. Quisling. This time, the facts are coming out, and I'm afraid they're far worse for their negligence." Schism hissed. "Would you like one last fact in the vein of the past? How about your name? It's a Romanization of the Danish place name _Kvislemark_…and the namesake of Vidkun Quisling, a Norwegian fascist who collaborated with the Nazis during the Second World War and turned his country over to them. Maybe you didn't hear about him, what with the old American tunnel vision…but your last name? In Norway, it's still a synonym for _traitor._ Hell, the Norwegian government actually re-instated the death penalty so they could give it to him when the war was over! But I'm not going to kill you, _MR. QUISLING,_ despite the betrayal you paid my parents for the sake of your own peace of mind. Because I know what brought you to that decision. You thought you were doing _good._ In your terms, then, _quid pro quo._ I've set out, I've come here, to _DO GOOD, _and whether it's good for the world or just for me, well, I really don't CARE ANY MORE. "

Merrick was barely aware of the sensation of his bladder giving way, as everything light in weight in the room began to rise up and whirl around, a maelstrom of paper and pens centered around Schism and his captive.

"And I also know because of that that I can't help you. I tried to help the first people who I settled accounts with. They were young, they could still learn…but not you. You're set in your ways, unchanging, uncomprehending. They can still decide their path. Yours is long paved." Schism snarled. "There's no remorse in you to bring out. So I'm afraid you'll have to _SETTLE FOR MINE.__"_

Merrick barely saw the hand dart forward and seize his forehead.

And then…all he could see was the agony, even as Schism, like before, forcibly drove outside memories and emotions into Merrick's head.

His own, as years and years of Mark Adal's life went crashing into Merrick's mind, overwhelming his senses with searing, shrieking information. Arcs of power darted from Schism's eyes to his head and vice versa, and his voice rose above all the carnage inside Merrick's mind like a roar of thunder.

"_DRINK UP, MR. QUISLING. THIS IS WHAT YOUR __**GOOD **__HAS CRAFTED. ALL MY PAIN, ALL MY GRIEF, ALL MY MISERY, ALL MY SUFFERING BROUGHT ABOUT SO YOU COULD SLEEP EASY AT NIGHT. EIGHT YEARS OF IT, EVER SINCE THAT DAY. THE PAST TELLS MANY STORIES, MR. QUISLING, AND FOR YOU, I__'__M AFRAID, __**WHAT**__**'**__**S PAST IS PRESENT. MY PRESENT TO YOU! DRINK-IT-UP!**__**"**_

If the scream had been audible, anyone nearby would have been chilled to the bone. But the only one who heard it was its maker, and despite his best efforts, he reveled in it.

With one snapping motion, Schism removed his hand from Merrick's brow, even as the debris stopped its whirling levitation and fell, gravity having re-asserted itself. Merrick didn't notice. He'd stopped being able to notice things several seconds before he'd stopped screaming inside his mind.

The EVO had felt his brain shut down like a switch. Despite all his raging fury, it had still felt like someone had jammed a screwdriver into his head. He lived with it. The account had been settled. Whatever came next to Merrick Quisling, be it death, new life, or a living death like this before the true one, Schism did not care.

He'd poured out all that into the brand he'd burned onto Merrick Quisling's mind.

"…_No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold__…"_ Schism whispered. _"__Nothing satisfies me but your soul__…__Ohhhhh death.__"_

Schism closed his eyes, taking a long, slow breath and letting it out. There was yet more to do.

Very, very soon.

With that thought, Schism gestured towards Merrick Quisling, slumped in his chair, calmly pushing it into the farthest corner of the room.

And as he did that, he sent a message down through the building, right down into the security nexus where he'd sent Elwood Wynn, and into his mind. And at his command, Wynn hit the kill switch.

Schism barely seemed to notice as the walls returned to normal, the shields of metal sliding back up over the windows. Instead he stood, and waited, arms crossed as he looked at the ceiling.

"_Well I am death, none can excel__…"_ Schism hummed. _"__I__'__ll open the door__…__to heaven or hell__…"_

The ceiling exploded in a collapsing hail of material, debris crashing down to the ground in front of Schism…followed by the massive mechanical feet and the attached body of Rex. Said feet disappeared half a second before Rex hit the office floor, and even then the ground beneath him buckled a bit, almost giving way and causing him to overshoot his mark. He recovered well, as far as he was concerned, as he smirked and waved his hand, enlarging it just a tad to blow the dust away.

"Hello! Sorry, just thought I'd…!" Rex began.

"Drop in." Schism finished, and his eyes flashed black.

Rex flew backwards like he had been hit by a train, screaming in surprise as he went right through the now-uncovered window, smashing it into a thousand glittering shards before he flew out into the open air. He didn't stay in said air long, as he tumbled into the building directly across the street from 1880 Poling, smashing through its window and through the office cubicles beyond. Fortunately, the building had been abandoned very shortly before, or Rex might have left office drones and middle managers amidst the path of destruction he'd carved through the walls and furniture. He finally came to a stop roughly two-thirds of the way through the building, the carnage he'd wrought settling down and onto him, one of his feet sticking out from the pile that had fallen on him in an almost comical manner.

It was a good thing that nanites did more for Rex than just produce weapons, or else he probably would have been dead.

From the yell that erupted from Rex's lungs as he tore himself from under the debris, it was harder to tell what had been hurt worse: his body or his pride.

"ALL RIGHT ASSHOLE, YOU WANNA PLAY ROUGH?" Rex snarled, charging forward through the scar he'd just cut to the entrance hole he'd made when he'd hit the building. He looked up through furious eyes to see Schism's form standing in the exit point he'd made in 1880 Poling, the EVO's arms still crossed and his head cocked to the side. Rex growled, the lines shooting down his arms as he began summoning his 'Boogie Pack' flight apparatus.

"YOU-ARE-_GOING_-!"

"Down." Schism said, and his eyes flashed again.

This time, it was like someone had dropped the train _on _Rex. From orbit.

The entire front of the building Rex was in collapsed, Schism driving him right down through every floor to ground level, the glass and steel face of the skyscraper tearing apart like a giant claw had raked across it before Rex hit the earth with a thunderous crashing noise. A giant cloud of smoke and dust bloomed up from the impact, dispersing across the street even as the few people still nearby finished recoiling.

Schism looked down at the site for a few seconds, and then stepped out into open air. He fell, doing a slow flip in the process, the ground rushing up to meet him.

Before Schism's fall abruptly slowed and stopped, the EVO touching down on the street with far more grace and far less suffering than Rex had. Having landed, Schism regarded the mass of rubble that marked Rex's landing point once more, blinking once.

Then he heard it, and he cast his eyes to the sky, as the _Daedelus _swooped down. Rex had jumped from it not thirty seconds ago, and things had gone south far quicker than anyone on board had expected.

They had no idea that rock bottom was still a long, long fall away.

"Providence." Schism said, cocking his head and looking at the sky-carrier. If anyone on board had scanned in close enough, they might have seen the faintest trace of a smirk on one corner of Schism's mouth.

"Henh."

* * *

"_If I knew that there was a man coming to my house with the fixed intention of doing me good, I would run for my life.__"_

_-_Henry David Thoreau


	4. Search And Destroy

Part 4: Search and Destroy

Writer's Note: I haven't quite worked out where this falls in the Generator Rex Season 1 timeline yet, in case anyone was wondering. So, again, if I make an error or contradiction, my apologies.

* * *

"_I came to play  
There's a price to pay  
Time for you to get down on your knees and pray  
(I came to play)  
Say goodbye to the good old days  
They're never coming back  
Watch your future fade  
I came to play  
Get my dues paid  
I guess you had a dream  
But it can't be saved  
(I came to play)  
I'm here to stay  
Best get out of my way  
I'm here to stay  
Best get out of my way  
I came to play."_

Ever since Rex's second excursion into the field, it had been Providence's general strategy to send him in first, alone. White Knight had argued that Rex was the most durable among the Providence 'elite forces', and sending him in first could both gage the strength of the enemy and allow the more 'human' members to follow in a way that served as a greater advantage then if they just went in on Rex's immediate heels. True, that wasn't how it always went down, but it was the usual order given in most encounters with EVO's.

It did protect the 'more human' members of Providence, Six realized. He'd never liked the strategy anyway. Rex was powerful, but he was far from invincible. What had just played out before his eyes proved that, causing Six to grit his teeth in slight frustration.

"Holiday, report in." Six said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice, something he had learned to be very, very good at during his life. Of course, ever since Rex had come into it, nothing had ever been the same in that regard.

"I'm here Six." Holiday replied, staring at her own computers, the concern evident in her voice. "What just happened?"

"The kid just got FLATTENED, dat's what happened!" Bobo said, his voice coming over the communication band and clearly interrupting Six.

"Thank you for your unrequired assessment of the situation, Bobo." Six cut in, the barest terse hint in his tone indicating he was not in a good mood. "Dr. Holiday, give me the readings."

"Rex's bio-metric readings just underwent two drastic spikes…but they seem to be holding. Get in his ear and calm him down, though, or we might have another shutdown. Six, what just happened?"

"The EVO. Mark Adal." Six said, before he switched his communication band from the doctor to his charge. "Rex, this is Six. Are you all right?"

Static.

"Rex, come in. Are you…"

"Rarrrggghhhhh sonnava…!" Rex's angry voice crackled over the communicator.

"Rex, try and calm down. If your nanites shut down under the rubble…"

"Oh I'm calm. Dead calm. Because that jackhole is going to be dead!"

"Rex, please. Keep your head. Because this EVO has also done so."

"Don't worry Six. He just got lucky. Now he's going to crap out." Rex growled, the sounds of shifting rubble in the background of his voice.

"I'll stay in contact." Six said, before switching back to Dr. Holiday. "Six. Rex seems to be relatively unhurt. Give me the latest."

"Still holding, but I don't really like this data Six…"

"Noted. We're going in. Contact me the moment anything looks to be going bad." Six said, again switching communication bands. "Attention Providence agents. We're entering the field. Consider Rex permanently disabled."

"WHAT?" Bobo yelled, his lone eye going wide.

"He's not, Bobo. But considering this EVO, I need them to approach with maximum caution. Hence, approaching as if Rex is out of the picture." Six said. "Now we're going to go make sure that picture doesn't happen."

"Heh. Why say a thousand words when one does?" Bobo said, snapping up his laser firearm. "Showtime."

* * *

The spotlight that the _Daedalus _placed on Schism lasted a touch over two seconds before it shattered. Schism lowered his pointing hand, rolling the fingers as he did so.

"Lights out." Schism said. "…sigh. Is that the best I can do? Well, I suppose one can't always speak in the vein of Twain and Wilde…"

The rubble off to Schism's side abruptly began to rumble and shift. Schism wasn't much surprised: in fact he'd been expecting it.

"Then again, as it is said…" Schism said, turning towards the pile of debris. "Better to light a candle then curse the darkness."

The spray of shrapnel that coincided with Rex erupting his way out from beneath the detritus all abruptly veered away from Schism before it got five feet from him. Rex was too busy getting free to notice, and by the time his eyes fell on Schism, the EVO was finishing another foodstuffs bar.

"Hello again." Schism said, tossing the wrapping away.

"Hello AND goodbye, freakshow. THE GLOVES ARE COMING OFF!" Rex snapped, white energy erupting down his arms. Within him, his nanites hummed and resonated, even as masses of metal and electronics rapidly assembled over the limbs and transformed them into giant robot fists of destruction. Their general non-de-plume were the Smackhands, but Rex had begun cycling through personal nicknames for them as well; at the moment his term for them was 'Rock 'Em' and 'Sock 'Em'. He planned to do both to Mark Adal, as well as any other rhyming words he could think of that denoted inflicting pain.

"Why were you even wearing them to begin with?" Schism asked.

"SEE FOR YOURSELF!" Rex yelled, pistoning a fist forward. Even as he did, Schism's eyes went midnight black.

Then Rex's fist slammed into him, Schism skidding backwards from the impact, his heels dragging a line across the street as he went. He managed to stop himself just before he went back into the lobby of 1880 Poling, grimacing and clutching his head as his backwards motion finally halted.

"Right then." Schism said.

"By the way, I didn't finish my introduction!" Rex yelled, charging in and swinging back his other giant fist. "I'M REX!"

Rex's fist shattered the glass entrance of 1880 Poling, but that did him little good as Schism was not between them and his hand. He was now a dozen feet to the right of where he'd been, looking at Rex with his burning black gaze. Rex took it in stride, pulling back his other arm as he adjusted his stance to face Schism.

"And I'm mad, bad, and DANGEROUS TO KNOW!" Rex yelled. Within his arms, turbines roared to life, turning Rex's hand into a spiraling mass of crushing force that he sent lancing towards Schism.

Schism said nothing, merely leaping to avoid Rex's punch.

Which was exactly what Rex had hoped he would do, as he immediately withdrew his initial strike and fired off his other arm in an upward one. His giant fist filled Schism's field of vision, even as Rex grinned fiercely on the ground.

Before Schism's upward momentum, seemingly at its apex, abruptly returned, causing the EVO to flip up and over, completely dodging Rex's blow as he landed on the teen machine's massive hand. Schism did not stay long, as he immediately jumped off the fist and did a long, slow arc up and over Rex. Rex whirled around as the EVO landed behind him, about fifteen feet away, his grin having faded into a look of deep irritation.

"Are you now." Schism said quietly.

"STAND STILL!" Rex yelled, and fired off another punch.

"No." Schism replied, lifting himself off the ground and dodging Rex's punch in a rapid sideways drift. "And if we're going to be giving introductions in _that _vein…"

Rex swung out with his other fist, causing Schism to dodge back the way he'd come.

"I'm a street-walking cheetah with a heart full of napalm." Schism said.

Rex, having blocked off Schism's path to the right, attempted to bring his other fist down on Schism in a crushing hammer. Schism solved the problem by drift-dodging backwards, leaving Rex to smash a crater into the ground and cause some nearby cars to flip over from the impact.

"I'm a runaway son of the nuclear A-Bomb."

Rex charged forward, firing off another punch and then turning it into a whipping backhand. Schism did a sideways flipping jump over it, causing Rex to carve out the side of one of the buildings on Poling.

"I am a world's forgotten boy." Schism said.

With a yell of frustration, Rex brought his hands together and smashed them down where Schism was. Schism didn't even bother dodging overtly, instead speed-drifting a mere few feet away from the blow, his windbreaker flapping in the impact wind Rex's axehandle produced. Rex's attempt to swing his fists sideways just resulted in Schism leaping up and over him again, again landing a few dozen feet away as Rex turned around.

Schism raised his hand, waving a finger as he made the familiar clicking/whispering noise that indicated dismissive scorn. Rex's eyes narrowed and his teeth grit, even as he fought to keep it under control.

_Don't freak out Rex. You don't want your nanites giving out. Let's see if this cocky son of a bitch can predict all my tricks. Like the fact my range is further then he thinks._

"Oh yeah, you're REAL tough. What with all the RUNNING and FLEEING." Rex said. "Keep it up! MAYBE YOU'LL LAST ANOTHER TEN SECONDS!"

Rex charged in, raising his giant fists and slamming them together before he sent them out towards Schism. Schism dodged the blows, which was what Rex wanted. It took four punches before Schism dodged backwards…

And Rex sent his fist out after him, his arm elongating even further to send the giant hand weapon catching up to Schism…

Who literally stopped on a dime and leapt upward, landing on Rex's fist again. Rex goggled at this, which slowed his reflexes for the second Schism needed to run back across Rex's arm and leap off directly in front of Rex.

This time, he thrust out his own arm.

Rex felt the same force that had smashed him through the building hammer into him again, crushing him up to his waist into the street with a painful crunch. He opened his mouth to yell…

Schism's eyes flashed, and Rex found himself driven backwards, his own body carving a wound across the street even the intense pressure of the attack slammed through every cell in his body, stealing the air from his lungs. Schism flipped off the impact of the strike, landing on his feet as Rex came to a stop, the teen having to grab onto the side of the groove he'd made to keep from collapsing.

"The one who searches and destroys." Schism finished.

Rex coughed violently before pulling himself up from the scar he'd made. The attack had hurt, but he could handle it.

"Is that the best you can do?" Rex yelled.

"Do you really want me to answer that question?" Schism replied.

"Just keep talking…" Rex said, his fists disassembling before his right arm reworked itself into his projectile launcher, the Slam Cannon (or as Bobo now called it, the 'Lawn Chair', based on an in-joke between the monkey, himself, and a FPS they'd played where the weapons announcer tended to slur a certain weapon's name). Though, at the moment, Rex personally would have preferred the weapon's name to be the 'Shut Up Gun', which is what he wanted and planned to do for Mark Adal. He thought he was good because he could dodge Rex's punches? Then Rex would find out how he liked a hundred pound hunk of rock fired at nearly _the speed of sound_.

The weapon's end fired out, slamming into the street and snapping up a chunk of rock. Schism did not look impressed.

"TRY THIS ON FOR SIZE!" Rex said, and fired.

Schism didn't, instead raising a hand as Rex was speaking.

The rock stopped in mid-air several feet from Schism. The act caused another grimace to cross his face, something Rex did not notice. He was too busy hammering his launcher into the street again, grabbing another piece of stone and hurling it right after the first one.

Schism caught the second one as well, using his other arm to do so this time. He also winced in pain, something that Rex DID notice this time.

"AND I DOUBT YOU HAVE A THIRD ARM!" Rex snapped, and fired off his final rock chunk, aiming below the first two.

Rex quickly found out his supposedly clever plan was anything but, as Schism slammed the first two pieces together and intercepted the third piece with them. All three rock projectiles shattered into a _thousand _pieces from the impact…which Schism proceeded to throw right back at Rex, hammering the teen with dozens of bullet-like projectiles. Rex yelled as he was barraged by his own ammo, finally managing to get a shield up in front of him to cut off the attack…

Then Schism yanked his hand back, and the rock pieces that had missed Rex flew backwards and slammed into him from behind, sending him staggering forward and falling face-first into the scar Schism had carved into the road with Rex's body.

"So this is Providence's great weapon in the war." Schism said, walking forward. "It's probably not good that I'm getting impressions of French military history. Lions led by donkeys and all."

The fist erupted out of the street, causing Schism to leap backwards to avoid it. Rex used his other hand to shove himself up out of the crater and into the air, his face a mask of rage. Energy shot down his legs, nanites rapidly assembling his Punk Buster boot-constructs as Rex plummeted down towards Schism.

"OR JUST LOOK AT _MY _SIZE!" Rex yelled. "SIZE 50 RIGHT DOWN YOUR THROAT!"

In truth, even Schism couldn't fit what he wanted to say about Rex's latest choice of move in the time he had allotted: the clear evidence of Rex's temper in his choice of moves, his snap-logic that had apparently made him think that if Schism could barely stop a hundred pound projectile, he couldn't stop a several hundred pounds of force-directed blow, and his obvious inability to remember two things Schism had done not minutes ago.

One was the fact that Schism HAD taken such a hit, from Rex's fist. Not because he couldn't avoid it, but because he was gauging the level of Rex's strength.

The other was that gravity had a much lighter grip on Schism then Rex, without Rex utilizing his Boogie Pack anyway.

If he'd had a way, Schism would have lectured Rex on those facts, but he only had time for a few words.

"I don't think so."

Rex had made one last error: by trying to pull a stomp-type move on Schism, he'd obscured his line of sight of his target.

Which meant that he didn't see Schism leap up to meet him until Schism grabbed and 'pushed' himself over Rex's giant boot, drawing even with the teen's face. Rex's eyes widened in shock.

"Crap."

"Yes." Schism said, and flipped over Rex before thrusting out his hand. Rex felt the force not only slam into his back, but seize onto his 'ankle' and yank, adding even more momentum to his downward plunge and resulting in his boot-mechanisms being buried all the way up to his knees in the road. The impact slammed through Rex, stunning him briefly.

It did not stun him enough, however, to keep him from feeling the force seizing his rammed-into-the-ground feet and twisting them around in the manner of a wrung-out wet towel. Had the action actually been performed on Rex's legs proper, he would have screamed in agony at the act: he still screamed, but in more shock and surprise.

The realization came swiftly, even for Rex: Schism hadn't just been trying to break Rex's mechanical augments. He'd been literally screwing Rex's feet into the ground, keeping him from just pulling himself free. If he wanted out, he'd have to completely disengage himself from his construct. That would take him a few seconds.

And as Rex turned to look at Schism's landing form, he came to the sick follow-up realization that his enemy wasn't going to give him those seconds.

"Pretty much." Schism finished, his eyes blazing ebony and his power erupting across his head, even as he thrust out his arm.

The telekinetic bolt slammed into Rex's side, feeling like Rocky, The Terminator, and the meteor from _Armageddon_ had teamed up to fire a combined blow into his body. Unfortunately, that was just one blow.

Schism promptly fired more than fifteen into Rex's form, causing him to do a dancing series of jerks as his trapped, locked-in-place body was hammered from every single angle. Rex couldn't even raise a defense, because the second blow had been across his head, stunning him again and leaving him completely open.

"I suggest you pick a better introduction. One out of three is rather poor." Schism said, drawing back his hand. "Not mad, not dangerous, but all around _BAD._"

The last blow tore Rex right out of his damaged boot-augments and sent him tumbling down the street, pieces of broken nano-tech trailing behind him in his wake.

"…then again, I'm hardly better. Considering my number of…unfair advantages." Schism said, lowering his hand as he began walking towards Rex. "But…then _again…_it is as your leader says. This is a war. There's nothing fair in war."

"…screw…you…" Rex coughed, as he began getting to his feet. Schism arched an eyebrow.

"All that and you still have fight left in you. Admirable, I suppose." Schism said, gesturing to his side. "But this is hopeless, Rex. Why don't you just surrender?"

"BITE ME."

"I really would advise you to surrender."

"YOU HEARD ME THE FIRST TIME!" Rex yelled in response, his fists re-manifesting as he charged at Schism.

"…as you wish." Schism said, and held out his hand, spreading his fingers.

Rex abruptly found himself no longer running on the street, but instead running on air.

Then he realized he wasn't moving forward any more. He was moving sideways.

Directly into the building that stood there, as Schism hammered him into the lobby there. Rex didn't even get a second to recover before Schism yanked him out, hurling him across the street and into the other building that stood there. No sooner had Rex smashed into THAT, then Schism yanked him ninety degrees and hammered him upwards through several of the building's floors.

"You're a good kid, Rex. In more than a few ways." Schism said. His compliments did not make him stop his telekinetic assault, nor did it keep him from ceasing the mental 'chaff' he was firing into Rex's brain to negate his ability to break free. "But you don't have any place here."

With a yell, Rex came flying out the window, heading back down into the street and towards Schism. Schism's eyes flashed black, and another impact smashed into Rex and sent him bouncing back the way he'd gone moments earlier.

"And in the words of an accurate man…" Schism said, bringing his hand back up a bit in a relaxed stance. "You're only human."

The gun metal felt cold as it pressed itself against Schism's temple.

"Likewise, dodge this." Six said, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

As far as Bobo knew, Six had done everything perfectly.

He'd snuck up on the EVO while it was throwing Rex around. He'd managed to convince Bobo to NOT charge in guns-a-blazing so he could do so, which is what Bobo DEARLY wanted to do considering how badly the EVO was manhandling his best friend. And he'd not only not been spotted, he'd performed his stealth approach so well that he'd managed to literally put his gun right up against the EVO's head.

Bobo didn't know where Six could have gone wrong. Six himself didn't.

All the agent knew was that he saw the bolt in his weapon start to move, it being part of the firing mechanism…and stop dead after an inch. The weapon had jammed.

To his credit, Six didn't just stand there stunned. He immediately leapt back, bringing his hands to his weapon, pulling back the bolt, and re-aiming within a second, pulling the trigger again. The same result occurred. Six pulled the trigger harder. The gun still refused to fire.

Schism turned his gaze towards the besuited agent, his expression neutral.

"You know, if there was a bullet in that weapon instead of a stun cartridge, I might actually be irked." Schism said, and held up a hand.

Six's gun was yanked out of his hand, and even as Six watched, it was separated into all its component parts and dropped at his feet.

Once again, the agent didn't waste time staring. He immediately snapped down his arms, his custom blades sliding down and out as Six leapt towards the EVO.

And went flying across the street like a giant hand had slapped him.

"Screw this." Bobo snapped, and leapt down from the building he'd been up on, drawing both his guns. The Providence agents with him did likewise…

Even as a high-pitched roaring whine surged down the streets, and Rex made his return, his Boogie Pack activated and Schism in his sights. Rex had thought he had been mad before, but watching Schism knock Six aside like he was some cheap toy to be abused had literally made him see red.

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYY!" Rex yelled, closing in.

"Is for horses." Schism said, thrusting an arm behind him.

Rex expected the force to come, and had adjusted his flight mechanism to compensate.

He found he had not even begun to correctly guess at how much compensation he would need, Schism seizing Rex with his mental energies even as he ducked. Rex roared over his head, flying down the street, out of control. Or worse, in someone else's control.

"Kid!" Bobo yelled, leaping up to try and stop Rex. He instead got a wing to the face, knocking him backwards and through a building's window, even as Schism used Rex's body as a battering ram and plowed him through the Providence agents. Rex tried to disengage the Pack, only to find himself abruptly yanked upward and into a giant loop, as he arced back over Schism and found himself plummeting directly towards the ground a block distant.

Worse, directly towards a tanker trunk.

"ACK! PLEASE BE FULL OF MILK! PLEASE BE FULL OF MILK!" Rex yelled.

The crash-landing and the horrifically potent smell that filled his nostrils made him realize the tanker's contents were anything but.

* * *

Even as Rex crash-landed, Six crouched low where _he _had landed, his hand against his ear. He'd withdrawn his swords back into their specialized sheaths even as he'd been tossed into the air, not wanting to accidentally land on them, and after said landing and his recovery from it, he'd immediately gotten onto the universal band that connected him to both the Providence field agents and the home base.

"Intelligence is wrong, I repeat, WRONG." Six snapped. "EVO is not manipulating gravity, EVO is actually high-level psionic…!"

Six winced as his ear-piece was yanked right out of his head, flying into Schism's nearby hand.

"High-level?" Schism said.

Every single window on street-level shattered as the tanker trunk exploded behind Schism. Six ducked down instinctively at the blast, trying to avoid potential shrapnel. The fact that the explosion had triggered from where Rex had been slammed down into came to his realization a second later.

Six turned his eyes to Schism, even as the EVO crushed his communication device in his hand.

"Try _zenith_." Schism said, letting the broken remains of Six's device drift out of his hand, even as the fire raged behind him. "And if you don't get the hell out of my way, Providence, I'll show you the true meaning of _nadir."_

Six drew a breath into his lungs through his nose. He didn't like his chances, but he liked Schism even less, as he stood up.

"Mark Adal. Stand down and surrender into our custody, or face the consequences." Six said, as his swords snapped into his hands again.

"You're not speaking to Mark Adal." Schism said. "And I don't give a damn about _your _consequences. I have my own to deal out, and anyone who gets in my way, well…I gave _him _a chance." Schism said, indicating the fire behind him. "I give you less of one."

"You had better hope he's alive." Six said.

"He who lives on hope dies of starvation." Schism retorted, raising a hand and rolling his fingers. "Come then, old soldier. _Moriamur et in media arma ruamus, una salus victis null am sperare salutem."_

"_Omnia dicta fortiora si dicta Latina."_ Six tossed back in turn.

"…touché, Agent Six." Schism said. "Or perhaps I should call you…"

Six leapt through the air, the light of the fire shining off his blades.

Before he stopped in mid-air, seized by Schism's power.

"Ah, yes. I know what to call you." Schism said. "It perfectly matches your situation."

Six flew backwards again, hurled away like he weighed nothing, and even as he went, he heard Schism's voice whisper in his mind.

"_**Hopeless."

* * *

**_

"_Run away, if you see me_

_Don't even say my name_

_Don't think that you can know me_

_Don't try to play that game_

_Every day that I get better_

_I watch as you get worse_

_My script is to the letter_

_And I'll write your final verse."_


	5. Secret of Survival

Chapter 5: Secret of Survival

Writer's Note: Rasrrr frassrrr website for Generator Rex, hiding vital information regarding things and names in a little corner and making me look stupid and un-researchy (is that a word? TOO CROSS TO CARE) in front of my reviewers. I'll go back and tweak my errors later, but I'm so irked at the website that I think I'm going to fold some of my theories in anyway. That's what you get for being obtuse, canon sources.

Speaking of canon sources, I have decided this story takes place between Episodes 7 and 8 of the actual Generator Rex show (That being 'Leader of the Pack' and 'Breach' if you need a reminder). Unless the show and its website annoy me again, in which case I might just toss canon out the window. Yeah, YOU HEARD ME CANON! Most fanfic writers don't even bother glancing your way when they set out to create their 'stories': you don't want another one following in their footsteps, do you? DO YOU?

What, you want the next chapter? Demanding audience. Fine fine, here you are.

* * *

The man that the Providence organization knew as White Knight tended, more often than not, to have an overseeing style that could generously be called 'hands-off': he would generally give orders that consisted of a few sentences at most to one or two people, and then sign off completely to the degree that more than a few rookies had thought he was purposely ignoring his agency's efforts against the EVO's. Whether people looked upon this technique as trusting his organization to get the job done (and they were few in number) or as their leader apparently thinking he was too good to interact with them (which was the rest of the organization, though they kept their mouths shut) did not really matter. Whatever his flaws (and they could be called considerable at best), White Knight was in charge of Providence for a reason, and however he did his job often paled beside the fact that he got it done.

Despite his general attitude, though, White Knight was not completely incommunicado during EVO events. Every Providence member, from the elite agents like Six down to the general grunts, knew the special communication band that would allow them to contact their commander in chief. Every single Providence agent also knew that unless you had a very, _VERY_ good reason to initiate said contact, it was far better not to. White Knight hated to be bothered for anything he considered trivial, and his definition of _trivial_ was far more expansive then the average man. Anyone who contacted him for a reason he deemed unimportant enough would find themselves in a career purgatory that most bureaucracies would have found excessive.

Corporal Ryan Van Lente (also known as Green Seven), however, was quite prepared to stake his career and a future of guarding wherever middle-of-nowhere wasteland they stuck the next Paradise-base to report what had just occurred. Which was not only the complete shutdown of Providence's primary weapon, but everything else as well. Rex had vanished in an explosion, the EVO having effortlessly scattered the Providence soldiers with him beforehand, including the monkey. And now, faced with Providence's last line of offense, their finest in-the-field warrior…

The EVO was making sport of him. Van Lente had always admired Six's unfathomable skill with his blades, watching him take down (and occasionally apart) foes who were far larger, stronger, and more vicious than him more than once. He moved so fast sometimes that Van Lente couldn't follow the motion, and battled with such skill that the likes of Miyamoto Musashi might have wept with joy that such swordsmanship still existed on the planet Earth so long after he'd been consigned to his grave.

And none of it mattered, because none of his attacks were coming anywhere close to the EVO. Hell, the EVO wasn't even attacking any more: after smacking Six away a few times just for the agent to get right back up and charge in, he'd stopped all his own offense and just kept dodging. Van Lente had a feeling that this would only last until the EVO decided he'd had enough, and then things could get REALLY bad.

If that wasn't a good enough reason to contact their commander, Van Lente didn't know what was. And so he had.

"Report." White Knight's voice said. The word sank into Van Lante, sending a further chill down his spine. While White Knight may have been reticent to the extreme, the men of Providence had done their jobs and interacted, as it was, with the man enough to know there were two responses you would get if you contacted him. The usual one was 'What?', after which the contacting person would have to walk the tightrope of his or her reasoning for said communication.

Or, the far less common one Van Lente had just heard. The one that indicated that White Knight already had a fair idea of what was going on. Which he would only have if he was following the situation. Which he would only be doing if it concerned him.

As hard as it was to justify things to White Knight, arousing his concern, or whatever mechanical preservation instinct he'd replaced it with, was even harder. And yet here it was.

It almost made Van Lente long for the days of mindless, destructive monsters. At least you knew the score there.

"Sir, the EVO has reached maximum threat level, we are attempting all levels of neutralization…uh, sir, it's not going very well!" Van Lente said into his communicator.

"Define 'not very well', soldier." White Knight said.

Had Van Lente gotten a chance to speak, he would have taken the risk of not recommending a 'cleaning' strike. He believed that the EVO would not be taken care by it, hence making such a response a waste and putting who knew how many innocent lives in jeopardy.

He never got the chance, as with a painful jerk, Van Lente found his communicator being yanked out of his ear. And straight through his helmet.

The Providence agent looked up just in time for Schism to smash him with a telekinetic bolt, tossing him down the street. The EVO was turning away even as Van Lente began his flight, putting the communicator close to his mouth.

"I believe an apropos description would be 'Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god…'…and repeat until you deem the situation is sufficiently illustrated." Schism said. "Issue a full retreat order now."

"…I do not know who you think you are, young man…" White Knight said, and through his voice Schism could almost see the man, sitting behind his desk, hands folded in front of him, not a hair out of place. "But if you believe you can issue commands to me…"

"_YOU ARE NOT IN CONTROL."_ Schism said. "I know you, old man. I know every single small piece you've given out, scattered across all your men. And on this, I can tell you, with very great certainty, that everything you could possibly bring to bear will end one way. This is your last chance."

"I'm not in the business of giving chances." White Knight said.

"…then know that this is all on your head, oh man in a gilded cage." Schism said. "I will _NOT_ be denied, and anyone who thinks otherwise is going to find out just how _small_ their thoughts are."

With a faint burst of static, White Knight watched the communication band go dead. His only response was to reach out and press one button on the arrangement before him, before settling back down to observe.

Schism knew he would. He knew that despite shattering the communication device in his hand, White Knight still had who-knew how many eyes on him.

And he planned to make it one hell of a show.

* * *

Agent Six had been occupied during Schism's ultimatum by the fact that the EVO had finally tired of his rope-a-doping and grabbed him with his power, proceeding to hurl him nearly fifteen stories up the length of a skyscraper before smashing him into the side of it. Six had recovered and used his swords to slide down its length, stopping one story from the ground floor to kick off the building and flip down onto the street.

As expected, he found Schism waiting for him, the EVO eating another foodstuffs bar. Six had noted his enemy's habit of doing that, though he hadn't found a way to use it yet.

"Ready to surrender yet?" Schism asked.

"No."

"Right then." Schism said, lifting his right hand. "I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: 'Oh Lord, make my enemies ridiculous.' And God granted it."

"Voltaire." Six said.

"Very well spotted, Agent Six. You continue to demonstrate considerable intelligence." Schism said. "Unfortunately it seems to stop when it comes to your judgment. You can't win here. The only thing within your grasp is how badly you're going to lose. So give up and stand aside."

"No." Six repeated with simple finality.

"Hmmmph. Voltaire was right on another statement. Common sense is not so common."

"Voltaire said something else as well, Adal. A witty saying proves nothing." Six said, and charged in.

His latest blow fared as well as all his previous ones, as Schism took one step to the side and tilted his head at the precisely right angle to avoid the twin-bladed slash. Six's immediately followed it up with a reverse slice with one blade and an angled stab with the other: Schism ducked under the first and took two steps backwards to avoid the second. Six went with his stabbing motion and rotated his body even as went low and slashed out with his leg instead, trying to take Schism's own legs out from under him. Schism did a brief jump over the kick and abruptly leaned backwards to avoid the follow-up roundhouse kick.

Six followed up the kick by continuing the spinning motion and hurling his sword directly at Schism's head. Schism cocked his head to the side in response, the blade whistling past his ear. Six didn't even bother reacting to the failed toss, as he was literally on the blade's heels, slicing at Schism's torso. The several rapid slashes were all avoided with several graceful, semi-floating steps, Schism's last dodge being a leaping backwards flip.

"Hmmmm hmmm hmmmm. Still not connecting much are we?" Schism said, glancing backwards at where Six's tossed sword had impaled itself in the wall. A brief gesture yanked the blade out and hurled it back at the agent.

Six caught it in mid-toss. The action was less satisfying by the clear evidence that Schism had been returning the weapon instead of trying to use it against him.

"Try again. Go on." Schism said. "I won't even move."

Six promptly tested that promise by leaping in and slashing down with his blades. Schism kept it by getting inside Six's guard, blocking the swords by intercepting his wrists with his forearm before he pushed Six back a step.

Six went into a slashing frenzy, mixing together three or four different combat styles on the fly. Schism's hands found his arms and wrists in mid-strike each time, like the EVO was some ancient kung fu master.

"This doesn't seem to help much either." Schism said. Six stabbed at the EVO, only to have his sword literally slapped aside. He held onto the weapon and sliced inward with the other, only for Schism to grab his wrist and yank the arm down. When Six brought his deflected arm back in, Schism did the same thing, locking both of Six's arms in a firm grip as he peered into the agent's sunglasses-covered eyes.

"Come on, stop trying to hit me and hit me!"

Six rammed his head forward in response, only to feel his skull plow into a malleable, invisible barrier that surrounded Schism's own face.

It didn't stop him…and then it literally didn't stop him, as he felt himself push through the shield and make impact with Schism's face. The blockade had bled off most of his momentum, but the fact that he still managed to slam his forehead into Schism's surprised face made up for it, as the EVO yowled in surprise and pain. A moment later Six felt a wrecking ball slam into his body and toss him across the street.

He landed on his feet after one quick flip, even as Schism clutched at his wounded face. He'd been tossing excrement at the wall when he'd done the head butt, figuring that the EVO would have protection but that it would be softer as a general act of will instead of a focused effort that Schism denoted he was making through gestures. The telepathic EVO may have been able to read his mind and hence engage him in combat like he was some sort of hyper-skilled hand to hand genius instead of just cheating his way to victory by knowing every move in advance, but even his mind couldn't keep up with everything.

Of course, all he'd gotten for his shot was an angry EVO, but Six would take it. It meant the EVO wasn't invincible, and that meant he knew the ending.

"Good at dishing it out, I see. Not so much taking it." Six said, and charged in.

Dark energies crackled across Schism's face in reaction, and Agent Six found himself yanked off the ground before he'd gotten halfway back to the EVO.

"I was TRYING to be _nice,_ old soldier." Schism said, having taken his hand away from his already-starting-to-blacken eye. "But if you really want to see _NASTY…!"_

Six gritted his teeth as the psionic force seized more intensely onto his body, twisting his limbs even as he felt a vise begin to close on his chest.

"You deserve better." Schism said, holding out his hand even as he slowly clenched his fingers in. "But heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your _**DOG **_would go in…"

Schism whirled around and held up his other hand even as the guns roared, the bullets stopping in mid-air. The other Providence agents had finally regrouped enough to launch a new offensive, but it had proven as effective as their first.

"And speaking of dogs…" Schism said, before most of the Providence agents dropped their main guns and un-holstered sidearm weapons. The new bullets from those were also stopped in mid-air, but Schism had no commentary on this fact, just a grimace.

That was when the flanking agents stepped out of the alleyways surrounding Schism and also opened fire. The EVO snarled, sweeping his hand around and further stopping the shots, before he thrust his hands down with a yell and sent all the bullets back to their owners, the projectiles shredding through the guns that had fired them.

But the effect was clear, even as Six dropped down to the ground. He'd felt the pressure loosening on him as Schism defended himself, up until the EVO had lost his grip entirely. Six said nothing, charging back in with his swords.

Schism turned to look at him, something Six expected. He hoped his men had made the same guess. And that Schism couldn't expand his mind enough to have gleaned whatever followup they had.

If he did know, Schism made no indication, as he lifted his hands to telekinetically slam Six into the ground.

While the Providence agents launched canisters of hissing tear gas onto the street. Even before Schism could turn around, the clouds enveloped him.

"FIRE!" The secondary unit commander ordered, and the on-the-ground agents did just that, having re-armed themselves with expert efficiency from their on-the-ground support vehicle. They knew that they stood a chance of hitting Agent Six in the process. They also knew that he'd be willing to take that chance if it meant it swung things in their favor. The bullets flashed through the cloud of choking miasma, both Agent Six and the EVO's forms lost in it.

Before a shadow loomed from the fog, all the Providence agents immediately training their guns on it.

Agent Six said nothing as he broke from the tear gas, a re-breather firmly clenched between his teeth. He quickly made his way over to the agents, not even pausing to put the re-breather back on his person, instead spitting it on the ground.

"Retrieve non-projectile weapons!" Agent Six barked. "He might be able to adapt to this multiple fronts effort, and we…"

"NO!" Came a yell, before the second form leapt from the tear gas cloud. The agents all re-trained their guns and prepared to fire…

Before they all stopped dead in their tracks. The person who had emerged from the fog…was also Agent Six.

And he clearly had no love for the Agent Six that had come out first, even as said first whirled around and brought his swords up to block the ones that the second Agent Six was swinging down.

"Men, don't listen! It's the EVO!" Agent Six 2 said, even as he slashed repeatedly at Agent Six 1. The Providence agents goggled at the site, even as the two doppelgangers continue to trade sword blows.

"I am not the EVO, you are!" Agent Six 1 said. "Code Phrase…!"

"When the moon is full…!" Agent Six 2 interrupted.

"You can see the stars!" Agent Six 1 finished. The Providence agents looked at each other: both of the Agent Sixs had given the emergency confirmation phrase that had been issued to confirm identity, albeit in two pieces.

"Men, shoot him! He must be tampering with your optic nerves!" Agent Six 1 said.

"Do NOT obey that order! If only because you'll be shooting the real agent!" Agent Six 2 said, even as the pair continued to lock blades. "Agent Green Two, your mother…!"

"Died in a car accident with you were fifteen! You regret it…!" Agent Six 1 said.

"Because you were doing drugs that night with friends and she went out to look for you!" Agent Six 2. "Agent Green Six has had repeated bouts…!"

"Of hemorrhoids! Agent Red Three won…!"

"Nearly two hundred thousand dollars on a long shot…!"

"Horse race bet! Truth Or Consequences, New Mexico!" Agent Six 1 and 2 said at the exact same time, their voices now synched in perfect unison. "Zucchini Howdy Doody Sausage Fingers Xanadu Wizard of Oz Bobo Haha Doctor Holiday Van Kleiss I Am The Eggman Koo-koo-Ca-Choo!"

"Which one do I shoot?" One of the Providence agents finally said, even as the two Agent Sixs battled across the street.

"They look the same!"

"Shoot the one who's winning!"

"No, shoot the one who's losing!"

"Which one's losing?" The last agent said before Agent Six 1 landed a kick that drove Agent Six 2 away.

"Shoot us both! It's the only way!" Agent Six 1 said.

"Providence, do NOT fall for that old saw. It's just the thing the EVO would use to trick you considering his abilities!" Agent Six 2 said.

"Would the real Agent Six be unwilling to sacrifice himself?" Agent Six 1 said.

"Not under such pointless circumstances!" Agent Six 2 said.

"Agents, shoot us both. No matter what…!" Agent Six 1 said.

Agent Six 2 didn't respond verbally, instead turning his blade around…and sticking it up his sleeve. The agent, however, was not putting the sword away. Instead, he sliced his jacket and shirt arm open…and with an immediate follow-up slash, sliced a bloody red line across his forearm.

The Providence agents stared, even as Agent Six 2 lowered his sword, the trace of his own blood clear on it.

Before Agent Six 1 chuckled, his form shifting into Schism's. Where he'd gotten the tire iron and the crowbar he'd been using to fake Agent Six's swords, no one could say, and he didn't offer any explanations as he dropped them at his feet.

"Very neat, old soldier. Correctly assessing I probably couldn't maintain the illusion through pain."

"I noticed you don't handle it well." Agent Six said, even as all the Providence guns turned onto Schism's form.

"Sorry about the suit."

"I have spares."

"Hmmmm, yes." Schism said. "Now let me ask you this, Agent Six, on the nature of spares. Do you think I'd go to _all _the trouble to hack into _all _your agent's brains…and have this be my only idea?"

A moment later, Schism disappeared. Once again, the Providence agents recoiled, jerking their guns around.

"Providence, he's blocking himself from your optical input! Switch to heat…!" Six managed to get out before all the Providence agents yelled in pain, their helmets and goggles ripped from their heads and faces. Agent Six narrowed his eyes at the action, even as he peered around the wrecked street.

"First you see me, now you don't…" Schism's voice echoed from a random direction. The Providence agents shifted and opened fire in that direction, but if they hit anything, evidence of the fact was non-existent. "Now you hear me…_then you won__'__t__…_"

In an eye blink, Schism re-appeared, standing in the center of all the Providence agents.

In the next second, the Providence support vehicle was lifted up and hurled backwards down the street in a thunderous, destructive toss. The Providence soldiers all jerked their heads towards the tossed vehicle before returning their eyes to Schism.

"It's the secret of survival in a very nasty world."

The Providence agents all aimed, before quickly realizing that even if they hit their target, they'd more than likely hit their fellows. Agent Six realized this as well, charging in and stabbing with his sword.

Schism grabbed it with his hand.

"Now you feel me…"

Schism disappeared, Six feeling the grip on his sword release half a second later.

"Now you can't." The voice said in Six's head. A moment later Six felt a new presence behind him.

"Am I real?" Schism whispered into Six's ear. The agent whirled around, slashing with his blade.

It went through a smoky mirage.

"Perhaps I aren't." The mirage said, fully vanishing. Six grimaced, briefly placing his fingers on his head. A second later, Schism re-appeared, sitting on a nearby car hood.

"It's a secret of survival in a very nasty world." Schism echoed.

"Repeating yourself already?" Six said, before charging back in, even as the agents aimed.

"Well, it _IS _a very nasty world." Schism said.

Six's blade carved the automobile's engine cover in half, Schism long gone. What really irritated the agent was that he had no idea if Schism had been there and dodged, or had tampered with Six's mind to produce the image of him being there.

"Nastier than you could ever dream of!" Schism said, now standing on a lamppost. "From up above!"

The Providence agents blew the light apart.

"And down beneath." Schism said, now sitting amongst the agents. It was hard to tell if it spoke of the agent's dedication and courage or their stupidity that they all aimed their weapons at the EVO again.

"Eyes and jaws." Schism said, snapping his fingers, Several agents screamed and grabbed at their face, their sight having abruptly gone dark. The action distracted the ones who had not been struck blind, turning towards their fellows.

"Claws and teeth." Schism finished, again snapping his fingers. The non-blinded agents abruptly found themselves no longer under their own control, suddenly charging forward and attacked their sightless fellows. Within seconds the organized soldiers had been transformed into panicked, brawling rabble.

Perhaps some who may have witnessed Agent Six's next action might have called him cold. In truth, Six wished he could have done something, anything, for his men, but he knew the best option would be to engage the EVO and focus his mental energy away from his manipulations, and he did so, leaping in with slashing blades.

"Ready to attack you, you're a snack, you better run!" Schism said, gesturing at Six. Six suddenly found his arms and blades weighing dozens of times more then they normally did, the increase in apparent density yanking him back down to earth and pinning his arms down.

"Don't come walking in the Wild Wood if you haven't brought a gun!" Schism said, and lashed out with a kick, hurling Six across the street before he crashed into a flower shop.

"Every creature for survival has to look out for itself." Schism said, turning and walking back towards the fighting Providence agents. With a snap of his fingers, he undid his puppeteer and visual interference, the soldiers quickly realizing their error. "Got no nannies here, or grannies dear, to look after your health."

Despite their battered state, the Providence agents reacted admirably, trying once again to aim their guns.

Schism yanked them all out of their hands, turning them around and pointing them at their original wielders, freezing the agents in place.

"You're in the Wild Wood…" Schism said, as the guns cocked themselves. "And any _child_ could, tell you that you've got _NO BUSINESS TO BE HERE!__"_

With a dismissive gesture, Schism tossed all the rifles into the air, the weapons flying off to who knows where.

"First you see me…" Schism said, before he disappeared. He re-appeared a few moments later, and unfortunately for two agents, behind them, before he hurled them into several of their fellows. "Now you don't."

Two agents ran in with stun batons.

"Now you hear me…" Schism said, before he gestured and both agents rammed their weapons into each other.

"Now you won't." Schism said, turning to regard what agents remained. "It's a secret of survival in a very nasty world."

One agent took a step back, clearly considering retreat.

"Now you feel me." Schism said, abruptly leaning on one of the agent's shoulders. Even as said agent turned in shock Schism was gone. The agent never felt the poke on the other side of his head, his brain abruptly shutting down. "Now you can't."

One agent upholstered another sidearm, aiming it at Schism. Within an eye blink, the EVO went from across the street to among the agent and his remaining companions.

"Am I real?" Schism said, and waved his hand. The agent with the firearm went wide-eyed as all the other agents abruptly turned into Schism. "Perhaps I aren't!"

Apparently, the visions of Schism affected all the other agents as well, as they violently recoiled from each other, trying to decide who the enemy was. Then, to make matters worse, Schism's visage literally began flickering on and off, sometimes appearing out of thin air where no agent was. The agents circled and jerked around, trying to find their target.

Perhaps it was best they never realized he was already walking away, blocked from their vision.

"It's a secret of survival. Yes, a secret of survival. A secret of survival." Schism said, and snapped his fingers, removing the last of the agents as they all fell unconscious. "In a very nasty world."

The mailbox flew towards Schism. With an arched eyebrow, he deflected it aside.

The cars came immediately after it. This time, Schism was actually forced to make a gesture to defend himself, knocking the automobiles aside.

"Ah, Agent Six." Schism said, looking at the returned primary-man. "Interesting setup your swords have there. Let me see if I can guess this without cheating: you were attacking from a distance to see if there was a range limit on my telepathy?"

Six's response was to swing his sword back and activate its electromagnets. He got partway through the first action before the weight came back onto him, driving him to his knees.

"I guess you'll never know." Schism said. "Just like you'll never know if I'm using telekinesis to hold you down or tricking your body into thinking it feels that heaviness. Too bad, so sad."

Agent Six's only response was a grimace. Schism ignored it, glancing upward to the side.

"So then…what now? More meat for the grinder perhaps, old man? Or perhaps you'd like to risk a few more hundred million dollars in vehicles? I assure you, it will _ALL_ end the same way." Schism said. "Do you understand now? I am an EVO in name only. I have not _VARIEGATED_, exponentially or otherwise. I have _EVOLVED. _I have ascended beyond all your ability to contain or neutralize me. Realize this, or I swear, old man, I will show you what happens when I _TRULY_ get…angry…"

Schism trailed off as he noticed the sight before him. Agent Six was getting to his feet. The teenage EVO narrowed his eyes to the sight, looking, for the first time, like he wasn't in control.

"Hmmmmmmm." Schism said, holding up a hand. Six nearly fell back down to his knees, but quickly recovered and resumed his upward struggle. That fact made Schism's expression go from puzzlement to disquiet.

"I'm sorry…did I ruin your satisfaction?" Six managed to say. "Did you, with the abilities you claim, expect to see me beg?"

"…My you chivalric fool... as if the way one fell down mattered." Schism said, clenching his fingers. Six again bowed down beneath an even greater weight…

And yet stayed upright, refusing to fully go down.

"…when the fall is all there is, it matters." Six said.

"…you're adapting." Schism said, his tone neutral.

"I'm afraid…that's what happens…when you perform instead of pressing your advantage." Six said.

"….hhmmm." Schism said. "What is that, some sort of tantric ability? Trying to channel your willpower to expel the intruding influence? Very nice, old soldier. If I was anyone else in the world, I would be in considerable trouble."

With that, Schism put his left hand on his right wrist, and black energy erupted from his eyes, the EVO's hair shifting upwards from the spiking energies he was channeling. Somehow, the weight that had been laid onto Six's form seemed to increase even more.

"But I am not. I am me." Schism said. "And to paraphrase ANOTHER changed being…the world's most potent will means about as much to me as the world's most potent soap bubble."

A low groaning yell of agony escaped from between Six's teeth. Despite it all, he did not fall back to the ground.

This time, however, Schism's expression did not change. In his greatly beleaguered state, Agent Six did not hear the car behind Schism being turned back onto its wheels.

He did, however, hear its engine start.

"You will find, Agent Six, that standing your ground simply means that's where you're buried." Schism said. "Because to directly quote a lovely girl, why _THROW _a car at you at maybe fifteen miles per hour…"

Schism stepped aside as the shrieking noise of burning rubber sounded across the street, the car tearing directly down the middle of the road towards Agent Six.

"When I can _**DRIVE **_it at you at 100-plus miles per hour!" Schism said.

Agent Six watched the car coming, the terrible weight pinning him in place.

"Give up Agent Six. Do that, and the car stops. You pass out. And you walk away knowing you did everything you could." Schism's voice whispered in Agent Six's head. "Give _UP_, soldier. There's no shame in surrender."

The car roared past Schism. Six watched it fill his vision.

His response was a mere three words.

"You…would…know."

"…goodbye, Agent Six." Schism said, and hurled a telekinetic bolt into the rear of the car to make it go even faster.

Six never let his gaze waver.

The giant metal fist smashed into the car when it was seven feet away, hammering the vehicle across the road and flattening it against the building that stood there.

A moment later, all the weight came off Agent Six. The shock of the sudden switch actually caused him to do what he'd been trying to avoid, as he fell to his knees. Schism was no longer paying any attention to him.

The fist withdrew back into Rex, who stood, hunched over and breathing heavy, a few feet in front of Agent Six. His jacket and pants covered in soot, parts of them still emitting faint wisps of smoke. But he was alive.

"…Rex." Schism said, the dark energies around him having died down, as he cocked his head. "I guess you're as strong as I gave you credit for. I don't suppose _you_ want to give up."

Rex's only response was an angry scream, his arm expanding outward into his BFS/Imperious blade.

"Right. Ask a stupid question…" Schism said.

"I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING ALL RIGHT! I'LL GIVE YOU HELL!" Rex yelled, a modified form of his Boogie Pack appearing on his back for a split-second to propel him forward, his sword tearing into the side of the building next to him.

Schism's only response was a low, dark chuckle. The darkness quickly bloomed in turn within his eyes, the incredible mental energies surging up anew.

"Yes. Come do that, _child._" Schism said, Rex closing the distance between them. _"__GIVE ME ALL THE HELL YOU__'__VE GOT TO SPARE.__"_


	6. Path Of Righteousness

Chapter 6: Path of Righteousness

_A brief moment ago__…_

There was one thing that movies lacked: the smell.

Rex was as easily impressed by the latest deafening blockbuster as the next average teenager, but his personal experiences always made him believe that filmed scenes of destruction lacked a crucial, poignant detail. In a real fight, immediately behind the sight, sound, and feel of it was the smell. If movies ever figured out how to properly integrate scent into their product, they would either truly find a potent weapon against the Internet age or have it be swiftly banned for being too horrific: after all, what sane normal person wanted to smell the average battlefield?

This time, the smell was overwhelming, the reek of high-quality fuel. Rex could feel it in his nose as much as he could on his form, the rest of his senses trying to recover from being smacked into the ground.

Primal fear screaming through his head brought them back right quick. He was right in the middle of a mess of fuel, and battlefields were lovely places to produce sparks. Rex's head jerked around, even as the odor continued to savage his nostrils.

_FLY!_

_No, you__'__re soaked in fuel too, you could easily be followed by a flame__…__!_

_Fire hydrant__…__!_

_Not enough, not fast enough!_

…_GO DOWN!_

Radiant bands of white light shot down Rex's body, his lower body expanding and shifting. The boring construct started up before it even finished forming, Rex's upper body being sealed in a shell of technological armor as he tore his way through the street and down into the sewer below, hitting the ground and continuing to dig…

He'd made it three feet into the second layer of the city's lower infrastructure when the tanker truck blew. The heat and shockwave slammed down onto him like a fly swatter from hell, causing Rex to feel like he was being squeezed and pulled apart at the same time. The pressure overwhelmed his mind, and the darkness fell down onto him.

_Calm darkness. Comforting darkness. Peaceful darkness. The wise would have stayed in it for some time._

_Rex was a lot of things, but in a lot of ways he wasn__'__t all that wise._

_Not in all cases was that a bad thing._

"…ke up!"

Rex, reality returning to his mind, at first thought he'd gotten himself tangled up in his blankets again. Memory quickly corrected him: he wasn't home in bed, but semi-buried in the ground beneath a fuel truck that had just exploded. Beyond his cramped quarters and the headache he had, he'd come out of said explosion pretty good, brief period of unconsciousness aside. Considering the average person who might have taken that kind of force shockwave upside the head would have ended up dead, in a near-permanent coma, or at the very least down and out for hours, days, or WEEKS, there was no real shame in being knocked senseless for several minutes.

"Urmuruuffhhhhh." Rex mumbled.

"Rex? Is that you? Rex!" Dr. Holiday's voice said into Rex's ear. A small part of Rex's heart fluttered: she'd been so concerned she'd hacked into his communication band. Despite repeated warnings not to do something like that from her superiors, who considered her a distraction. What a woman.

"…yeah Doc…peachy keen…"

"Thank heavens. I was getting apprehensive." Dr. Holiday said, her tone returning to pure business. "Rex, the EVO's still in the area. Agent Six and the soldiers are trying to hold him but it's not going well!"

"Course not…I was napping…" Rex said, even as he started reaching out to his nanites.

"Be careful Rex. You took a pretty harsh blow from that explosion. Try and keep yourself together, and don't do anything stupid."

"Stupid, doc?" Rex said. Full sense was returning to him, and with it came the full remembrance of what had befallen him. That punk Schism had tossed him around like a toy, like Rex was something barely worthy of his notice. And he was still around? Rex would make damn sure he NOTICED.

"Like a genius said, Doc!" Rex snapped, even as his metallic protection shifted into a new form, his arms expanding into his Smackhands and tearing through the dirt and stone around him to prepare for his return to the surface. "I DARE to be stupid!"

Dares, however, tended to hurt more in the end, as Rex found out when he punched/dug his way back up to the surface at rapid speed, only to remember there was still a giant flaming wreck of a truck up there, along with a lot of still-burning fuel.

The fact that he made it out with just some minor scorches did little to calm the fire in Rex. His blood was up, and he was planning to follow it with his dukes.

When he discovered what looked to be in all forms an execution of Agent Six, the rumbling in his head became a roar.

* * *

Agent Six was glad to see Rex back, though his gratitude was tempered by two things. One was the fact that despite Rex's return and his rescue of him from the car, Schism hadn't altered his demeanor or strategies. The second was that Rex, in his rage, was swinging his weapon so wide and so fiercely that not only was tearing the street and buildings around him apart, he was keeping Six from finding a proper opening to jump in and assist.

Unfortunately, Schism knew that too.

"Ho. Ha ha, Guard. Turn. Parry. Dodge. Spin. Ha. Thrust." Schism said in a deadpan tone, speed-drift dodging around Rex's constant slashes and stabs. "You know, Rex, for a second wind, this is pretty fourth-rate. If you rate even that high."

The sweat on Rex's brow seemed to be on the verge of boiling away as the EVO did another vicious roundhouse slash with his sword. The attack missed, but Rex went with it, the Imperious BFS reforming in a split second into a whirring buzz saw that Rex spun up and brought down on Schism's head.

Rex had expected a dodge or a deflection, and he'd been planning to ram the spinning blade into the ground to try and throw up shrapnel and dust into Schism's face when it happened.

Schism bent the laws of physics instead; he leapt instead of catching or avoiding the blade, did a quick flip, and even as Rex's buzzsaw slammed into the street, Schism projected a specialized barrier of psycho-kinetic force and ended up _STANDING_ on the buzzsaw. The blade tore into the projected 'stepping stone', but the psionic EVO replenished it just as fast. The end result was worth it, as Rex's furious expression melted into one of complete shock.

Schism did a slow crouch, putting one hand on his cheek like he was chatting with Rex over coffee instead of engaging in mortal combat with him.

"Neat, huh?"

Six leapt into the air, his blades shining from a dozen streetlights.

Schism slapped the agent out of the air like an annoying mosquito, before turning his attention back to Rex. He had been planning to quote another line from the works of fiction he perused, saying that the agent was like 'The Energizer Bunny, a Rolex watch, and Jackie Chan all rolled into one'…

Rex screamed as he tore one arm out of his buzzsaw structure. The pain of it didn't stop him from jerking the arm back, the 'broken limb' reshaping into a smaller Smackfist that Rex immediately re-introduced to Schism's face.

"Oh." Schism said, before the blow slammed into him and sent him tumbling across the street.

"…heh. Heh heh…henh." Rex said, his arms returning to normal even as Agent Six returned to his side, having rolled with the blow like he had so many others. "Oh, that felt _GOOD_."

"Noted. Let's go." Agent Six said, and the pair dashed down the street at their enemy.

"Urrgghhh." Schism said, pushing himself up. Despite his mental shield, he'd felt that. The downside of devoting too much effort to his buzz saw trick, which also accounted for how Rex had caught him off guard. "Violence, in truth, recoils upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit he has dug for another…"

Rex's crushing fist smashed down on where Schism had been, the EVO dodging aside and into Six's myriad of slashes. Schism dodged two before he just threw up a mental wall to take all the blows. Rex introduced his Smackfist to said wall a moment later and again tossed Schism down the street. Well, at least they'd found a nice, very long street to fight on: he didn't exactly cotton to being thrown through a building.

This time, the EVO corrected himself in mid-fall, spinning and slamming his hands into the ground. Twin lines of force erupted across the street at the pair; Rex and Six leaping aside to dodge…

The force-waves stopped as they did, before shifting direction on a dime and erupting beneath where the pair had begun to land, knocking them into the air. Schism stopped paying attention after that, pain reflecting back into his head and causing him to grab the side of his face with a grunt. The warmth bloomed from his nose again, the blood running down across his lips before Schism wiped it away with his sleeve. He'd milked the show too long: time to wrap up and get back to work.

"RARGH!" Rex yelled, diving in on his Boogie Pack as its turbines converted to pistoning bludgeons. They smashed into the street, Schism dodging backwards, even as he flipped in the process. The force projected off his body as he did, seizing up one of the pieces of concrete Rex had made with his attack and hurling it skyward into Rex's chest. Six was there to pick up the slack the moment Schism was upright, performing another deadly assault that would have carved Schism to ribbons if he hadn't been able to project mental force fields. Schism's performing boredom was gone though, replaced with tense, pained vexation.

Most men would have thrown back Schism's earlier words in his face, or taunted him by offering him the same conditions he'd been giving out not moments before. Six had no patience for such nonsense and just kept attacking, hacking away at Schism's shields before the EVO slashed out a foot across the ground, kicking up a cloud of blinding, stinging dust. Even with his sunglasses, Six was forced to fall back, which allowed Schism to do so in turn, flipping several times across the street before he stopped. He withdrew yet another foodstuff bar, looked at with a brief moment of pain, and then gobbled it down before tossing the wrapper away.

"All right then…" Schism said, holding out his hands as Rex and Six moved in to attack again. "Bang bang bang on the door, baby."

The twin machine guns, called from fallen Providence agents, flew into Schism's hands, the EVO bracing the gun in his right hand with psionic energy as he took aim and squeezed the trigger.

"Rex, careful-!" Six ordered, before he stopped and threw up a defense. He'd had a feeling that Schism wasn't going to just _fire _the gun at him, and he wasn't. Even as the bullets left the weapon, Schism seized them with his mind and focused them on his targets, turning the wild spray into a focused barrage that would have reduced a normal man to hamburger.

Six's arms went into a blurring mirage as he began deflecting the shots away from him. Rex picked a simpler defense, drawing up short and transforming one of his Smackfists into a shield construct.

"Rex, watch your back!" Six yelled.

"Yeah!" Rex said, the shield expanding over his body in a dome a moment before several bullets whirled around Rex and tried to strike him in from behind Schism's gun clicked dry after a few seconds, but the mentalist was raising his left-hand rifle even as the last bullets exited the right hand one, replacing its fire with the other gun. Six continued to defend, trying to spot an opening and ignore the burning pain in his arms.

Despite that, Six was not so occupied that he didn't see Schism lower his right-hand gun, the clip ejecting and a new one, freshly summoned, replacing it. When Schism's left hand gun clicked empty and Schism promptly repeated the switch out/reload trick, concern began to bloom in Six's mind.

"Rex, we can't just stand still! It won't end well!"

"No DUH, Six! I'm WORKING ON IT!" Rex yelled back, his teeth grit at the constant sound of bullets rattling and boring against his nanite-created armor. Rex was, in fact, trying to figure out how to convert his shield construct into his Slam Cannon in such a way that he could return fire and not end up swiss cheese…

"_You seem to be forgetting what an open book you are to me, Rex. Both of you.__"_

Schism's voice, whispering inside Rex's head, sent a cold chill down his spine. Just when he'd thought he'd had the edge, Schism had pulled it right back.

"Don't listen to him Rex. He's pushed himself to the limit, and he's not the one who's gone there before!" Six said; whether Schism had spoken in his head as well, or Six had just somehow guessed what the psionic EVO was doing, Rex couldn't say.

"_Nothing makes the determination falter. How admirable. How regrettable.__"_ Schism's voice echoed in Rex's mind. _"__I do hate to keep borrowing from other sources, but my dear Providence agents, while you may THINK you can outsmart me, I severely doubt you can outsmart BULLET.__"_

Six deflected the latest blast directed towards him and debated diving behind Rex for additional cover. Maybe line of sight would help…

"_It won__'__t.__"_ Schism said. The air continued to be filled with projectiles, a few stray ones clipping Six's coat…

While up in a shattered window, Bobo Haha shook the last of the cobwebs out of his head and the last of the glass out of his fur, before turning his lone eye down on the sight before him.

"I swear, yose guys can't get any'ting done without me." Bobo said, pulling up and yanking on his laser gatling's fire-up switch. "Time to say my piece with…my piece."

With a graceful jump, Bobo leapt into the air and took aim.

He did not get smashed into the ground. His guns did not get yanked out of his hands and bashed over his head. He did not get a sudden urge to run away or go find some bananas. Instead, his guns lit up and opened fire, a spray of concussive energy tearing across the street towards Schism.

For the first time, Six saw the EVO's features light up in surprise.

"The he-!" Schism yelled, before jerking out of the way, dropping his guns and just managing to avoid the destructive eruption that raked across the ground where he had been. Six stopped his deflecting to turn his eyes towards Bobo, who landed a moment later, re-aimed, and opened fire with his right-hand gun. More energy bullets tore across the road, forcing Schism to dodge backwards…

Right into the charged-shot Bobo had been gathering in his other, left-hand gun, which the monkey directed right into the wall next to Schism, blowing him out into the middle of the street and causing him to nearly hit the ground with his face.

"…What gives, people? Why are you getting owned by some weaksauce punk like dis?" Bobo said, before he aimed his guns and sent another onslaught of potent energy towards Schism. The EVO managed to slam his hand down on the ground, ripping a chunk of street out of the ground in front of him to absorb the shots. Bobo merely immediately switched to high-impact blasts and blew the barricade apart, the resonate shockwave from the twin shots blowing Schism down the street again.

"…what the…HUH?" Rex said, having dispelled his shields to watch this latest event. "Did I miss something?"

"You missin' a lot of things for a pinkskin primate-wannabe, but relax, I don't hold it against ya." Bobo said, glancing at Six. "So? Why so seriously lacking today, agent?"

Six did not immediately reply, turning the last bits of information over in his head.

"…Our enemy's a high-end telepath, Bobo. He's been reading our minds, knowing our moves before we made them. Yet you caught him completely off-guard. Repeatedly." Six said, looking at the oddball Providence 'agent'. Six had always been a bit ambiguous over the monkey's presence, both for his actions in the field and out of it, but at the moment, it seemed like the EVO was worth his weight in gold. "Like you said, Bobo. You're not human. You're a primate with a nanite-enhanced sentience. Your design, so to speak, seems to be different. _HE CAN__'__T READ YOUR MIND.__"_

"…all _right. AWESOME.__"_ Rex said, slamming his hands together.

"…heh. What can I say? When you got it, flaunt it." Bobo said, giving his guns a brief twirl before turning around to aim at where Schism had gone. "Let's go den. I got your backs, and your fronts. And dis time, Six, stick with da swords. Leave da gun tricks to the professionals: your last try with dem didn't work out so well."

"It seemed like a viable countermeasure at the time." Agent Six said.

"Less talking, more-!" Rex yelled, before the trio were suddenly barraged by a storm of hurled rock. Rex went low and manifested the Slam Cannon, returning fire and forcing Schism to cease his attack to dodge.

"Heh. Heh he." Schism said, the lower half of his face stained with blood. "I asked God to make my enemies ridiculous. Apparently he heard me too well."

"Ohhh, big words. I'm gonna enjoy shovin' 'em down your throat." Bobo said. Schism gave the primate a part-respectful, part-withering glance, and then thrust out his hand.

Once again, nothing happened. Alarm flashed across Schism's face. Apparently, as well as being unable to read Bobo's mind, he by extension couldn't puppeteer him.

"Oh dear."

Bobo's guns tore up the street again, forcing Schism to drift-dodge to the side. Rex promptly drove the Rex Ride directly into him, its armored front sending the EVO tumbling down the street yet again.

"All right _culero_, here's the score!" Rex yelled, shifting from the Ride to his Punk Busters. "We are here to kick ass and chew bubble gum…!"

The windows in the buildings around Rex shattered, and the Providence EVO drew back as he was pelted with broken glass.

"_Vete al carajo_, and take your overused-even-for-my-tastes boast with you!" Schism snapped. His head jerked to the side, and he dodged backwards as Six surged around from Rex's flank and slashed out with his swords. Unfortunately for Schism, it was another feint, and only a by-instinct shield kept the EVO from taking the full brunt of Bobo's gunshot from the streetlamp he'd climbed up to, sending the psionic tumbling backwards across the street even more.

Idly, Six wondered just how long this particular street was.

Rex, on the other hand, could swear, as the EVO got back up, that smoke was starting to rise from the dark energies that continually crackled across Schism's head. He didn't get to see much as Six immediately closed in and attacked with another furious series of slashes. A gesture from Schism knocked him away, but Six went with the move and slammed his swords together, the magnetic fusion blade seizing the street lamp Bobo was on and tearing it out of the ground towards Schism. The move caused Six to land badly and take a painful tumble when he did, and it seemed to be a wasted effort, as the EVO knocked the metal pole away with another telekinetic surge…

And ended up taking both of Bobo's feet to his chest as the monkey dove down and slammed into Schism, smashing him down onto the ground even as he rammed his gun into the EVO's face.

"Go ahead punk. Make my day." Bobo said, his finger curled around the trigger. "Heh. Gotta love the clas-"

Rex's yelled warning came too late, as black power erupted from Schism's eyes and Bobo's gun was crushed like it had been abruptly shoved into a trash compactor. The EVO's surprise was great enough to keep him from bringing his other gun back around in time, the invisible fist lashing out and hammering the monkey away from Schism with a yell.

"Neither an uncle nor a target." Schism said, pushing himself back up.

Rex's boot came down with a crash that echoed across the street, Schism forced down into a kneeling position as Rex brought all his strength down on the EVO's psionic shields, trying to grind him under his giant robot heel.

"Just a bitter taste of 'dee feet.'" Rex said, turbines igniting in Rex's leg to press down on the EVO even more. The ground shattered beneath Schism, Rex beginning to drive the telekinetic EVO into the street.

"…_stop it.__"_

"Oh what's this, are we begging for mercy?" Rex said.

"…_Rex, this is your one and only chance. Smash through the street and give me cover to get away.__"_

"…are you serious?"

"_Rex__…__you are not winning. This is your one chance to listen to me__…__!__"_

"JUST SHUT UP!" Rex yelled, more turbines locking together in his leg. The boot slash rototiller just ended up tearing into the street proper as Schism dashed backwards from the attempted burial; Rex immediately converted from boots to hands, his Smackfists manifesting even as Bobo and Six made their return.

The grin that flashed over Rex's face said more than any speech. With his friends at his side, he knew he was unstoppable.

The confidence lasted right up until the look of stark rage crossed Schism's face.

_"__I WARNED YOU, __**CHILD!**__**"**_

Rex abruptly felt the alien presence tear into his body again, and his heart filled with ice. In all of the chaos, in the apparent charge for victory, Rex had forgotten one crucial detail.

Schism could do more than read minds. And unlike Bobo, Rex was NOT immune to it.

Nor was Six, as he felt his ankles lock up, rooting him to the spot. He immediately registered what Schism was doing and hurled his swords directly at him. The end of the blades flashed over Schism's head, slicing a few strands of hair away as he slashed his own hand out.

"SIX!" Rex screamed. Six felt the momentum shifting beside him, and turned his head even as he realized what was happening.

Rex's fist slammed home a moment later, Schism seizing control of the EVO's arm and re-directing the blow directly into Six's form. Six was vaguely aware of the building encroaching behind him before Rex's Smackfist hammered him into its wall, the metal and stone crushing his far frailer flesh and blood between them.

For one brief, terrible second, Rex was treated to the sensation of a sack exploding beneath his hand.

Bobo, despite himself, drew up as he saw the blow being re-directed. He felt the impact from where he was standing.

Time seemed to slow down for a moment, Bobo hearing Rex's horrifying cry as a drawn out lament rather than the second-long shriek it was…

Which, Bobo realized a second later, and a second too late, was exactly what Schism had been going for.

The EVO propelled himself across the street, his hand lancing out, partially seizing Bobo with his fingers and partially with his mind. Bobo tried to bring the gun up, and proved too slow as Schism whirled around and hurled him through the air.

Bobo crashed through the car windshield of the nearby vehicle, breaking the front seat from his impact as he was hurled into the back of the vehicle. The thunderous jolt to his body locked it up, ever so briefly…

Then everything went dark, as Schism stopped, thrust out his hand, and clamped his fingers together. The car crumpled beneath his power, the framework crushing in and pinning the monkey in a coffin made of steel, the tightest embrace Bobo had felt since he'd exited the womb.

"…_Cuiusvis hominis est errare, nullius nisi insipientis in errore perserveare.__"_ Schism said, turning away from where he'd entombed Bobo. The weight of how things had changed so quickly and so badly slammed into Rex like a blow in and of itself, and for a moment, the darkness traced across his eyes again.

His heart drove it away, as Rex turned and sprinted over to where Agent Six lay, the horror coming on the heels of the black…

Before stopping. What lay before him was not a red stain, or a shattered mess of what had once been a body. While Six lay crumpled in the indentation Rex's fist had made, the only indication of harm came from his unconscious state. Rex could only see a little blood, and as he stared at the unexpected sight, he saw the faint motion of breathing.

Six was alive.

"I negated most of the impact. Enough to prevent the really unfortunate consequences, anyway." Schism said, as Rex turned back to face him. "What? I'm efficient. I'm not a monster."

"You…you're…" Rex said, looking back at Six, and then, realizing Bobo was nowhere to be found, jerked his head around until he located the crushed car. "You…_YOU!__"_

"Don't throw accusations at me, Rex." Schism said, wiping again at his bloody face. "There's a reason I keep calling you _child_, you know. A _MAN_ chooses. A slave, or a child, obeys. Yes, not mine again…but what can I say? The situation is apropos."

"I'll show_ YOU __**APOPEOS**__**…**__**!**__**"**_ Rex yelled, his hands clenching into fists.

* * *

Back in her station, Dr. Holiday watched with stunned apprehension as Rex's nanites went crazy. The setup had skirted dangerously close to shutdown several times during the battle, but this time it looked to be going over the edge.

Dr. Holiday hit the com link to try and reach the young EVO…only to discover that some time in the last minute, Rex's communicator had been knocked out of his ear and crushed.

* * *

The white lines jerked partially up Rex's arm before seizing, the energies spiking out as Rex looked down at his body. No. Not now. He couldn't have a shutdown now. Any time but NOW…!

"Henh. _Ducunt volentem fata, nolentem trahunt.__"_ Schism said, raising a finger. "Game, set, match, Rex. Check and…"

"RRRGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Rex snarled, trying to seize onto the roiling animal in his guts, to direct it out and into his will, to keep his nanites working. Maybe he'd faltered against Kleiss that first time, maybe he'd melted down over the terrible truth Noah had revealed about their friendship, but the third time was NOT the charm, he would NOT do it this time, he would…

"ENOUGH SPEAKING GOBBLEDEGOOK!" Rex yelled, as the lines fully re-ignited and tore up his arms, his Smackfists returning with a vengeance. Time to rock and sock, and roll if things went well. "TALK TO THE HAND!"

"…Oh." Schism said, as Rex charged. "That was…unexpected."

Rex's fist slammed into the ground where Schism had been, the EVO leaping backwards. Turbines locked together, and Rex lashed out with a whirring hook, tearing open the side of another building as Schism dodged under it.

"Well, well. Maybe you ARE lacking gum. Though that doesn't change much." Schism said, his eyes narrowing. "You know, that taunt is so overused. I prefer something a little fresher."

Rex's Smackfists converted into the Imperious BFS, the blade lashing out and smashing a nearby newsstand to smithereens. Schism landed nearby, breathing heavily, the air between the twin EVO's filled with drifting paper.

"Like this." Schism said, his eyes going black as energy erupted from his cranium. "I am hunger. I am thirst. I can fast for a hundred years and not die."

Rex slashed his sword at Schism, and the EVO met it with his own telekinetic bolt, the attacks canceling each other out.

"I can lie on the ice for a hundred nights and not freeze."

Rex shifted from the blade to the Boogie (Pack), lancing forward and slamming into Schism. The two tore down the street briefly before Schism lashed out with another psionic blow and knocked them both down to the ground.

"I can drink a river of blood and not burst." Schism said, springing up as Rex pulled out the Slam Cannon. Rex, unfortunately, did not notice how 'undercooked' the deflections Schism pulled out were, the EVO knocking the stone blasts away as he walked right up to Rex.

"And to paraphrase the last bit, you, unfortunately, are my enemy."

Rex converted back into the Smackhands and lashed out. Schism leapt over the blow and over Rex in turn, coming back down onto the street.

"That's right, keep running away. You have to save all your breath for yakking, anyway! It's not like you can FIGHT!" Rex said, whirling around.

"Back to the taunts. Not really surprised." Schism said. "You know, Rex, you should be _thanking_ me. You're about two steps at most above a temperament that could charitably be called rabid animal, and yet your powers are still working because you want to take me down so bad."

"STOP TALKING AND FIGHT!" Rex yelled, charging in again. Schism narrowed his eyes.

"There's more than one way to do that Rex. Last chance. Give up."

Schism couldn't really tell what Rex said as he smashed his fists down where Schism had been, but he got enough of the gist of it. Part of him felt a pang of deep regret, but the rest of him buried it.

This was a war, a war Providence had insisted on starting. It was time for their main weapon to learn just how many shades of hell there was.

"Okay then. Then do just one thing, child." Schism said, and despite all the noise of the battlefield, Rex heard the EVO loud and clear, inside his head. "Answer me a question. Just one question. How exactly do your powers work?"

"…what? Are you STUPID?" Rex yelled, shifting into the Ride and trying to run Schism over. The EVO dodged once again, though this time Rex managed to clip his windbreaker coat. Rex shifted to semi-Punkbuster feet to stop his momentum, tearing up more of the street in the process. "I control my nanites. Like when I'm going to send them into your little head and shut down all your powers, putting you back to the state of bitch that you know so well."

"You can't do that unless the target is mindless or willing, Rex, but that's beside the point." Schism said. "Answer my question. How do your powers _work?_"

Later, Rex would have sworn that the exchange had lasted a lot longer than the time period had actually passed, his sensation of time shifting with Schism's voice.

"I know how _my _powers work." Schism said, dodging backwards to avoid a Punk Buster kick. "The nanites have recreated my brain to function as a sort of organic sonar. I read the electrical and chemical signals of adjacent minds, and my mind translates the data into thoughts. Hence, telepathy. As for the rest, well…said mind can also take the natural kinetic forces my own body is capable of, pushing, pulling, lifting, and all that…and not only greatly amplify said forces, but project them off of the limits of my muscular structure. Hence, telekinesis. The third and final detail…"

Rex's fist smashed most of a convenience store to rubble as Schism jumped onto the fist and over Rex again.

"Is my newly hyper-evolved mind can comprehend things at far greater detail than the norm. So much so that not only can I project greatly magnified kinetic forces, but incredibly small and precise ones. Like say, putting the slightest, most subtle tweaks in another brain's electrical and chemical signals. That, and being able to multi-task and process thoughts at an accelerated speed I think most computers would have trouble matching. All this uses up a gigantic amount of caloric energy, but I've found a way to compensate for that. That's how _my _powers work. It's complicated, but it makes sense. Yours, Rex…really doesn't make any sense."

"SHUT UP!" Rex yelled, pistoning his fist towards Schism again.

"YOU are constantly generating mechanical constructs of a highly evolved nature. True, you're not exactly creating cold fusion, but it's not a stick into a termite hill either. But you're not doing it the same way as me. You're constantly summoning and dispelling these massive techno-setups instead of just layering your fists with metal or forming rockets on your feet. Worse, if your creations are broken or removed, you just summon new ones. Forget how your nanites shut down if you get too emotional. I want to know how your nanites work at all. Where are you getting the _MASS?_"

"YOU CAN ASK DOC IN JAIL!" Rex yelled, firing off more punches. Schism continued his retreat, and kept talking.

Rex tried to ignore it, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't block out Schism's calm, analytical tone, the voice prying into every small crack of Rex's thoughts that the EVO had long decided to bury and ignore.

"What, are your nanites shifting the nitrogen and oxygen in the air to more complex elements? That's theoretically possible, but if I remember my science magazines correctly, that would require more energy than the _**SUN**_ puts out." Schism said. "I suppose it's possible that somehow your body could generate that much energy without roasting the whole planet to a cinder, or just disintegrating you. But…it seems unlikely. So do some of my other theories. In fact, the one that seems most likely lines up with what White Knight thinks about you. Providence's greatest weapon. With no memory of his past."

"WILL-YOU-JUST-STOP-TALKING!" Rex rasped, throwing a punch with each word.

"It'd be tricky, of course. Replicating all the normal things you feel. And why they'd want to, who can say. Maybe it had something to do with the design." Schism said. "But what you can do…well, not really learning towards amnesiac kid who controls his nanites to explain you. You strike me more as some sort of high-grade automaton. One that's naturally extremely dense, and can 'unfold' his structure to recreate weapons and whatnot, while still remaining at the same weight. That makes the most sense to me. Providence's finest weapon. The world's most advanced fighting MACHINE."

Rex felt the words slamming against him. He tried to counter with his own protests inside his head; of the comfort of having friends, of the simple joy of eating meatloaf, of the heat in his chest and other parts of him whenever he thought about Dr. Holiday, or Circe. The sensation he'd had just a moment before, with Bobo and Six, of knowing he belonged…

And despite it all…

Despite it all…

He found it ringing hollow. Of impotently yelling at Schism's words without properly countering them. Rex even tried to seize onto the faint memory of when Holiday had tried to explain his powers, only to find it as ethereal as a ghost, so vague that it might not have existed at all, might have been invented whole-cloth in a desperate attempt to stave off Schism's words.

"Oh yes. Those are fair points. But…well. Like the good detective said." Schism said. "Eliminate the impossible, and whatever remains, however improbable, must be true. My question is, Rex…what improbable do you think your situation most favors?"

Rex stopped, staring at Schism.

Like a switch, his Smackhands abruptly crumbled, breaking apart and turning to dust. Rex barely noticed, staring at his hands.

* * *

A stare mirrored in Dr. Holiday's eyes, as she looked in numb horror at her readouts. She'd seen Rex's nanites shut down before, but never like this. All the other times, it was like they went into a static state, awaiting the proper jolt of mental energy to get them back into operational status.

This time, they just…turned off. Shutting down and going dark, like a switch had been flipped. In all her studies, Holiday had never seen nanites act like this before.

She also had another thought, its long claw poking up and raking across the back of her head.

She had no idea how to treat and reverse it. For all she knew, this was permanent.

* * *

"No. NO." Rex said, yanking off his right glove to look at his hand. "I'm NOT a machine. I'm REX, I'm a person, my nanites…I AM a person, I know I am…I am….am I…?"

"Well then, we're back to the original problem. Which is that your powers don't make any sense." Schism said, raising a hand and gesturing towards Rex. "If you've come up with an answer since then, well…I'm listening."

Rex could only stare at Schism before looking back at his hand.

"…Oh dear, Rex….I seem to have given you a crisis of…what's a proper word? Faith…no that doesn't quite fit…conscience, no, also not right…I suppose crisis will just have to suffice it and of itself, wouldn't you say?" Schism said. "It's terrible, really, truly knowing what you are. Hell…why do you think so many people would rather be anything but themselves?"

"…no! NO NO NO NO!" Rex yelled, clenching his fist. "This is all _mierda_, you goddamn…! You won't trick me, you can't YOU…!"

Rex's words echoed down the street, but that was the only result of his eruption. No white lines re-appeared on his arm, or anywhere on his body. Worse, Rex couldn't feel anything inside him. Normally, when his nanites weren't working properly, he felt a sort of twisting clench in his body, like a car engine that wouldn't turn over. This time…nothing. Like they'd never been there at all.

"Me nothing. Whatever this situation, your situation, may be, it not longer involves me." Schism said, lowering his hand. "I have my own accounts to settle. Good day, child…."

"**NO!**" Rex yelled, as he broke into a run, his knuckles on his fist going white. "**WE****'****RE NOT DONE YET-!****"**

Rex's fist was intercepted by Schism's own hand, the EVO seizing Rex's wrist in a vice grip in mid-blow, stopping it dead.

"Such heroic nonsense." Schism said.

The black arc of psionic energy blew Rex backwards, sending him across the street in one final tumble. Schism made sure the teenager didn't break his neck, or anything else in the wall. He'd done enough already, and part of himself hated himself for it.

Other things, however, were demanding his attention. The faint sound of approaching gunships had reached Schism's ears: Providence may have taken a little extra time to call in reinforcements, but they were coming in fast and hot.

As far as Schism was concerned though, the curtain was going down, and he wasn't in the mood for an encore…

"NO…!" Came the voice, and Schism turned his eyes to see Rex getting up again, his goggles hanging askew on his face. "Story's not over yet…!"

A humming roar echoed down the street as the gunship came into sight at the end of it. Schism knew within a few seconds another would emerge on the other end to box him in. That fact didn't make him bother to spend a look at the planes though, instead looking at Rex's just-finished-rising form.

"Yeah…your story's gonna have a bad end, gonna write it, gonna…punch a bunch…get you…you bastard…!" Rex semi-babbled, holding up his fists.

For one more moment, Schism took measure of the sight before him. Of all he'd done to Rex, and of the fire that still burned.

The thought occurred to him to just give the Providence EVO an aneurysm and be done with it. The larger part of him immediately shot it down. Rex was not who he had business with.

And if Providence didn't learn their lesson, well…

Then Schism would have to get REALLY mean.

"…Fools pass on and ne'er waste your time, On bad biography and bitter rhyme." Schism said, gesturing one last time at Rex. "For I am what this cumb'rous clay ensures."

Summoning the last vestiges of his power, Schism bent slightly at the knee.

"And what's to come, is no affair of yours."

The gunship had just been ready to lock on when Schism lanced upward into the air. The pilots immediately moved their vehicles to compensate, even as Rex jerked his head up to follow. Sighting Schism's flying form, the pilots tapped at their computers to re-calibrate…

The beeping noise of an error brought the pilots' attentions to their consoles. The targeting machine was disagreeing with their commands. In fact, according to it…

There was no target at all.

Rex watched Schism vanish, disappearing without a trace. The pilots just looked in confusion, not understanding how their vision had been altered as a higher consciousness had seen fit.

And as Rex yelled his last eruption of rage at the city sky, nearby, a manhole cover slowly slid back into place.

* * *

"Sir, you really must…" The Providence agent said as Six made his way along the battered street, a little more gingerly than he was used to but still at a decent clip.

"I'm fine. How long before you can cut him out of there?" Six said, indicating the crushed car several other Providence soldiers were clustered around, various tools at their disposal. Despite the situation, Six could hear Bobo's muffled, furious curses from within even from across the street. He hoped that once the monkey was free that he didn't resort to more primitive (so to speak) actions in his anger and start throwing excrement. Enough of it had already hit the fan, and everything else.

"Ten minutes at most, sir. He has more than enough air…"

"Good. Where's Rex?"

"He's at the medical truck sir…"

Six stopped paying attention after that, heading towards Providence's paramedic-esque unit, passing by medical personal treating the other wounded. Six managed to give the men a reassuring gesture or two (or his closing approximation) as he passed by, but remained focused on his main target.

Rex was sitting in the ambulance-type vehicle, leaning his arms against his knees, his head down. That pose, and the fact that he wasn't fussing about the Providence agent checking his vitals, confirmed the worst to Six. Something was wrong, very wrong.

"Rex." Six said. The teenager looked up dully, taking a moment to focus on Six.

"…Oh. Six….wow, you ARE tough." Rex said. The usual spark was gone from his voice, replaced with a weariness that sounded so alien coming out of Rex's mouth that Six was tempted to see if the teenage EVO had somehow been swapped with an imposter. He knew that Rex had briefly come over to check on him, when the medical personal had been rousing him from his unconscious state. The fact that he'd then either wandered or been lead over here instead of stomping around in a rage or flying off to chase after the target…

"Tough enough. What's the issue, Rex? Are you all right?"

"…Six…I'm me, right?" Rex said. "I mean…I know maybe you lie sometimes, so much lying all around…but you wouldn't lie about that, would you?"

"…I beg your pardon, Rex?"

"I'm who I am, aren't I? I'm not some weapon, built by Knight and given a…"

"…Rex, whatever Ad-that EVO tried to feed you, dismiss it. He's a manipulator, he's trying to feed you misinformation to keep him off you. He was losing, Rex. If he hadn't been so lucky with that last-ditch offense we'd be disinfecting him back at the base at this time. He's lost his element of surprise now, we know…"

"Six…just say yes or no. Please, stop the business talk and…Six. I'm me, right? I'm…"

Six stood there, not wholly sure what to say. He'd never exactly been an expert in encouragement, and it was becoming crystal-clear that this was far above his pay grade.

"Sir?" A Providence agent said, appearing with a new communicator. "Dr. Holiday's on the…"

Six snatched up the earpiece and inserted it.

"Report."

"Six? You all right?"

"More or less. What is it Holiday?"

"Six, what's Rex's situation?"

"Situation? He's banged up but generally healthy…"

"Is he having a temper tantrum? Generally acting out?"

"No. He's…actually quite calm. Why?"

"…Six, his nanites are dead. I don't mean in the usual shutdown state, I mean DEAD. There's no activity in them at all."

"That's impossible. The EVO couldn't have…"

"Six, it's not the EVO. I don't know what happened…but I think Rex did this himself. Somehow he…just switched them off. Just like that."

Six was silent, trying to gather his thoughts. Even as he did, he felt his earpiece buzz.

Someone was cutting into the communication feed. Six didn't need three guesses to know who. He needed even less to know how his commander was going to handle this whole situation.

For a moment, the agent clenched his teeth, the strongest sense of emotion he could really give off.

The worst part was, despite all that had happened, Six still had a feeling it wasn't as bad as it was going to get.

* * *

Despite the terrible danger of EVO's, very little could keep the mass media away from a battle scene, and even less from one that had gone quiet. While none of the news helicopters and cameras could get close, the general technology was high enough to get some decent, if brief close-ups.

At the very least…it was enough to tell the story to the man on the throne, watching the television screen even as he tapped a metallic finger on the side of it in thought.

"…Well then." Van Kleiss said. "Perhaps this does bear…investigation."

* * *

The order had gone out to tear the whole city apart to try and find the EVO if need be…but the down side of battle plans were how useless they were if the enemy knew them.

Or worse, if the enemy had plans of their own.

Schism knelt down on the filthy protrusion above the sewer water, trying to wrap up the final detail of his work. Once that was done, he'd retreat to grab more of his high-energy food bars, and then set off for his last target. If everything went according to plan, he figured he would have no trouble reaching it. If plans changed…

Well, he'd put his ability to adapt in a trial by fire, and the enemy was the one who had come out with the burns.

Slowly standing back up, Schism caught the faint echo of Rex's mind one final time. For a moment, he felt deep shame. Bad enough he'd tried to shut down Rex's ability with the 'traditional' high emotion reaction. When Rex had somehow fought through that. Schism had been forced to play a nastier trump card. Anger, fear, doubt…all terrible things.

But nothing quite matched the soul-crushing taint of despair.

Part of Schism wondered if, despite all he'd seen, if Rex could ever match it.

But…that was the way it went. War was hell.

"…O see ye not that narrow road, So thick beset with thorns and briers? That is the path of righteousness, Tho after it but few enquires…" Schism said, as he turned and headed off into the darkness beneath the streets. "And see not ye that braid braid road, That lies across that lily leven? That is the path to wickedness…Tho some call it the road to heaven…."


End file.
